IROKA:   TALES  OF  JAPAN 


IROKA: 

TALES    OF    JAPAN 

By 

Adachi  Kinnosuke 


New  York 

Doubleday  &  McClure  Co. 
1900 


M! 


COPYRIGHT,    1900,  BY 
ADACHI    KINNOSUKE 


TO 
WALTER  R.  LAMBUTH 


-TT7HEN  I  think  of  it,  I 

W  have  said  everything 
in  the  title  of  the 
book.  Only  .  .  . 

"  Tales,  my  child,  mere  tales" 
my  mother  used  to  say ;  "but 
history  would  not  give  you  so 
tme  a  truth'.' 

And  she  told  them,  there  by 
the  little  bed  of  mine,  in  order 
that  romances  and  dreams 
might  kidnap  her  child  and 
away  with  him  far  into  the 
fairies'  homeland. 

Years  and  years  ago! 

But  her  voice  is  still  ringing 
a  silver  bell  on  the  outermost 
verge  of  my  memory's  horizon. 


/  do  not  know  why  I  have  left 
those  days  so  far  behind  me :  I 
am  such  a  dunce,  and  perhaps 
that  is  the  reason.  Whenever 
I  succeed  in  proving,  however, 
that  I  am  a  fool,  and  when  my 
heart  takes  unto  itself  the  hue 
of  the  clear  sky — which  is  none 
too  seldom — then  I  steal  an 
excursion  or  two  backward 
through  the  sins,  storms,  tears 
of  this  dirty  struggle  called  life. 
And  here  are  the  results  of 
my  wanderings,  and  I  offer 
them  to  you. 

ADACHI  KINNOSUKE. 

AT  THE  HERMIT'S  PERCH,  GLENDALE, 
CALIFORNIA. 

The  Twenty-second  day  of  the  Ninth  Moon 
of  the  Thirty-second  Year  of  Meiji. 


Contents 

UNDER  THE  CHERRY  CLOUD  OF  SUMIDA      .      x 
SANGATSU  SAKURANO  SAKUJIBUN  ...     25 

A  SAMURAI  GIRL 53 

A  JAPANESE  GARDEN 65 

ABOARD  THE  "AKAGI  "          ....     93 

A  JAPANESE  SWORD IJ7 

HIRATA  KOJIRO I37 

KATAKI-UCHI T57 

THE  DEATH  OF  A  GHOST  .  .  .  .181 
A  DREAM  ON  SUWA-YAMA  ....  205 
IN  THE  OLD  CASTLE  MOAT  OF  KAMEYAMA  229 

A  GEISHA 253 

SAKUMA  SUKENARI          .    -    .    >    .        .        .271 


NOTE.— Some  of  these  stories  are  reprinted  from  The 
Criterion,  Ainsleis  Magazine,  Town  Topics,  The  Over 
land  Monthly,  Poet-Lore,  and  The  Los  Angeles  Times. 


Under  the  Cherry  Cloud  of 
Sumida 


Under  the  Cherry  Cloud  of 
Sumida 


Eeally  it  was  a  bit  of  gauze  torn  off  from 
the  skirt  of  that  vain  coquette  called 
Spring,  in  her  all-too-hasty  and  careless 
way  of  passing  over  this  earth,  and  which 
was  caught  by  the  bare  branches  of  trees 
which  had  stood  lonely,  looking  very 
black  and  ugly  upon  the  snow,  all  winter 
long.  There  were  some,  not  many,  who 
said  that  it  was  a  cloud  made  up  of  ten  jo's 
faces  blushing  over  their  first  experience 
in  love.  An  error.  But,  of  course,  we 
can  see  how  they  made  a  mistake  like  this, 
seeing  that  they  were  poets.  And  as  for 
those  people  who  insisted  that  it  was  noth 
ing  but  cherry  blossoms  on  the  banks 


4  1ROKA: 

of  Sumida,  they  knew  no  more  about 
what  they  were  talking  than  a  mathema 
tician  knows  of  love. 

But,  not  to  be  too  dogmatic  in  this  age 
of  assertions,  we  will  be  generous  enough 
to  make  a  compromise  and  say  that  under 
the  cherry  cloud  of  Sumida  there  stood  a 
tea-house. 

And  it  looked,  in  all  truth,  as  if  every 
thing — its  straw  roof,  its  bamboo  curtains, 
its  sign  with  the  characters  upon  it  which 
certainly  did  not  seem  very  much  blessed 
with  modesty  as  far  as  its  fat  strokes  were 
concerned,  its  wooden  benches  with  cush 
ions  on  them,  its  show-cases  full  of  all  sorts 
of  elegant  temptations  for  the  palate — 
everything,  I  say,  seemed  as  if  it  were  made 
out  of  the  strokes  of  a  Japanese  painter  of 
the  Hokusai  school.  But  there  was  one 
feature  of  the  tea-house  which,  more  than 
aught  else,  seemed  to  have  danced  out  of 
a  picture — a  little  waitress.  Always  I  saw 
her  standing  in  the  doorway,  and  she  was 
by  far  the  most  tempting  invitation  to  the 
weary — and  to  those  who  were  not,  so  that 
they  were  young,  for  the  matter  of  that — 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  5 

to  sit  down  and  enjoy  what  might  be  called 
a  rest  from  pleasure. 

She  was  not  a  daisy  with  the  conceit  of 
a  magnolia,  this  maid,  but  a  daisy,  who, 
for  some  reason  or  other  of  which  she  her 
self  was  not  aware,  laughed  at  a  magnolia. 
There  came  to  her  tea-house  many  a  great 
lady  from  Tokio  and  patronised  her  in  a 
condescending  manner.  But  had  she  not 
offered  a  hot  cup  of  rice  every  morning  to 
the  God  of  Luck,  and  a  prayer  along  with 
it?  And  so  she  was  not  in  the  least  an 
noyed  at  these  things.  And,  to  do  her  jus 
tice,  there  were  days  when,  standing  under 
the  cherry  cloud,  she  did  not  know  that 
she,  perhaps,  was  the  fairer  of  the  two. 
There  was  one  man  who  thought  there 
was  no  question  on  that  point. 

This  particular  one,  who  used  to  go  out 
to  Sumida  to  "  see  the  cherry  blossoms," 
as  he  said  with  a  wink,  was  an  artist — a 
fellow-citizen  of  mine  in  a  little  Bohemia 
in  a  modest  corner  of  the  great  Capital  of 
Nihon. 


1ROKA: 


II 


Asada  Matsuyo  was  his  name. 

Twenty-five  centuries  ago  he  might  have 
been  a  god.  But  now,  coming  so  much 
out  of  time,  he  was  nothing  but  a  fool;  a 
crank,  with  a  crack  somewhere  in  his  cra 
nium — at  least  that  is  what  the  honest 
people  thought  and  said  of  him,  aye,  to 
him.  It  was  a  very  happy  thing,  however, 
that  he  had  absolutely  no  taste  for  public 
applause  or  blame.  A  few  of  us  who,  like 
him,  were  pointed  out  by  the  wise  public 
as  fools,  but,  unlike  him,  did  not  have  any 
reason  to  be  foolish,  could  see  in  him  a 
spark  now  and  then  which  well  merited 
a  shrine.  And  often  in  our  enthusiastic 
outburst  of  insanity,  we  rose  to  the  task 
and  reared  a  temple  to  him.  And  be 
cause  we  had  no  wood  or  stone,  or  mud, 
or  anything  that  would  cost  money,  with 
which  to  build  it,  we  took  our  hearts  as 
the  building  materials. 

To  think  of  it,  it  is  a  very  strange  thing 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  j 

that  the  people  insisted  in  catching  him 
at  a  wrong  place,  by  a  wrong  end.  If  one 
were  to  catch  a  cat  by  her  tail  he  would 
be  made  to  see  very  soon  that  the  tail  was 
not  the  right  place.  Even  a  kettle.,  if  you 
will  be  blind  and  hold  it  by  its  bottom 
which  is  always  turned  to  the  flame,,  your 
hand  will  have  an  emphatic  mark  of  your 
blunder.  But  our  Asada,  being  nothing 
but  a  divine  painter,  was  not,  it  seemed, 
allowed  to  be  as  vindictive  and  high  of 
temper  as  a  cat  or  a  kettle. 

For  example,  once  he  painted  a  mood  of 
a  servant  girl  with  a  heavy  bucket  of  water. 
The  burden  gave  a  sad  defect  to  the  bal 
ance  of  her  shoulders  and  her  unoccupied 
hand  seemed  as  if  it  were  desperately  try 
ing  to  seize  a  bulk  of  air  far  away.  A  very 
few  strokes  of  his  brush  went  to  the  mak 
ing  of  the  face  of  the  poor  servant  girl — 
a  couple  of  strokes  for  her  eyes,  one  for 
her  nose,  another  for  her  mouth — that 
was  all.  It  was  there,  however,  the  per 
fect  picture  of  that  sarcastic  cynicism  of 
a  working  girl.  "  I  work  from  the  death 
of  the  stars  to  that  of  the  sun,  365  days 


8  IROKA: 

every  year.  What  is  the  result?  This 
bucket  of  water  is  as  heavy  as  it  ever  was 
and  my  mistress  is  as  cross  as  sin.  Life 
is  a  practical  joke  of  the  gods.  Our  tears, 
curses,  sweat,  groans,  laughters,  fits — all 
are  for  the  amusement  of  the  bored  divini 
ties!  » 

I  say  all  these  were  there  in  that  sketch 
— yes,  perfectly.  People  did  not  see  these 
things,  however,  perhaps  because  they 
were  there.  But  they  wanted  to  see  the 
photograph  of  a  servant  girl  with  the  right 
number  of  hairs  in  her  eyebrows,  with  the 
exact  diameter  of  the  pores  marked  care 
fully  in  her  skin;  and  the  photograph  of 
every  muscle  in  her  body.  They  wanted 
to  see  even  the  dirt  on  the  water  bucket. 
They  wanted  to  see  these  things  because — 
in  their  way  of  thinking,  and  in  the  name 
of  wisdom,  when  were  they  ever  in  error? 
— the  artist  ought  have  had  them.  When 
the  infallible  public  did  not  find  the 
things  which  it  looked  for,  it  called  him 
names. 

"  Very  well,"  said  he  to  himself  and  to 
the  world  at  large,  "  understand  me  well, 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  9 

good  people,  I  am  painting  only  for  my 
own  amusement,  for  my  own  self.  I  will, 
therefore,  do  as  I  like! "  And  he  did. 
He  was  a  happy  fellow  because  he  wanted 
the  world  to  forget  him,  and  the  world  is 
always  pleased  at  that  job,  finding  it  not 
the  hardest  thing  under  heaven. 

But  it  was  within  him,  that  flame  which 
something  higher  and  brighter  than  the 
sun  had  lit  in  his  soul,  and  whose  marks 
escaped  now  and  then,  through  his  fingers, 
through  his  brushes.  And  those  who  had 
in  their  make-up  anything  to  be  scorched, 
when  they  came  in  touch  with  his  canvas, 
they  were  scorched  truly.  But  his  pic 
tures  were  as  rare  as  the  visitations  of  a 
good  fairy.  And  one  must  indeed  be  an 
intimate  friend  of  his  to  prevail  upon  him 
to  show  one  of  his  "  colour-studies "  on 
paper.  And  for  a  long  time  I  thought  that 
he  treated  every  mortal  alike  in  this  ex 
cessive  modesty.  But  I  was  greatly  in 
error.  And  0  Chika  was  the  occasion  of 
the  discovery  of  my  mistake. 


10  1ROKA: 


III 


0  Chika  is  the  name  of  the  daisy  bloom 
ing  beneath  the  dewdrops  gathered  by  the 
cherry  petals  of  Sumida,  and  when  one 
day,  tired  of  books  and  sick  of  life,  I  de 
serted  my  den  and  dragged  my  cane  on  the 
Sumida  bank,  it  so  happened,  in  the 
motherly  thoughtfulness  of  Providence, 
which  we  fools  are  so  apt  to  call  "  mere 
chance/'  that  I  stopped  at  the  tea-house. 

A  cup  of  tea  of  that  classic  warmth  of 
colour  and  of  the  traditional  flavour  with 
a  cherry  petal  boating  upon  it,  is  always 
good.  Far  better,  however,  it  is  when  it's 
served  as  the  mirror  of  a  charming  smile 
on  a  pretty  face  which  bends  over  it.  And 
it  pleased  my  weakness  to  render  unto  this 
unpretentious  female  Caesar,  whose  realm 
is  as  wide  as  the  human  heart,  what  was 
hers. 

"  I  regret  that  I  am  not  a  painter,"  said 
I,  letting  my  eyes  say  the  rest. 

"  Oh,  honourable  guest,  I  thank  you!  " 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  \\ 

she  said,,  naively  answering  to  my  implied 
compliment.  "  But  I  am  sure  you  can 
paint,  because  you  look  at  me  with  the 
same  kind  of  eyes  as  his." 

"His?" 

"  Oh,  I  have  a  friend  who  paints." 

"  Well,  he  is  an  enviable  fellow,  I  am 
sure." 

A  pleasant  laughter — and,  like  a  many- 
coloured  flash,  she  disappeared  behind  a 
screen.  A  moment  later  she  brought  out 
a  roll  of  paper.  I  unrolled  it. 

"  What  is  the  honourable  guest  smiling 
about,  may  I  know?  " 

"  Well,  I  believe,"  said  I,  « I  have  the 
honour  of  your  friend's  acquaintance." 

"  A — ah  ?  "  in  the  voice  of  a  dreamer 
frightened  out  of  sleep;  and  then  recover 
ing,  with  a  smile;  "the  honourable  guest 
is  joking?  " 

"  Perhaps." 

He  had  painted  her,  not  exactly  as  she 
was,  but  as  he  had  seen  her — felt  her.  I 
mean  that  his  eyes  were,  for  any  of  the 
divinities  he  adored,  a  mount  of  trans 
figuration.  The  picture  was  not  a  picture 


12  IROKA: 

of  a  girl — rather  it  was  a  translation  in 
colours  of  the  height  of  his  imagination's 
flight. 

The  girl  in  the  picture  was  serving  a 
cup  of  tea  to  an  owl.  That  easy  grace 
which  Mature  gives  to  a  girl  in  the  self-f  or- 
getfulness  of  her  hearty  merriment,  a  bit 
of  coquetry,  a  trifle  of  condescension,  the 
amiability  of  one  who  is  sure  of  her  con 
quest,  were  all  put  on  the  curve  of  her  lips, 
on  the  uplifting  of  her  eyelids.  And  as 
if  the  ambition  of  the  painter  were  not 
satisfied  with  the  beauty  of  his  dreams,  he 
placed,  doubtless  in  order  to  bring  out  by 
contrast  all  the  delicate  charms  of  the 
maid,  the  most  grim  of  philosophers  in 
the  absent-minded  stare  of  the  owl's 
eyes. 

"  Do  you  like  the  picture?  "  asked  I  of 
the  girl. 

"  It  is  very  pretty,  I  think — but " 

"  Oh,  but  how  much  prettier  is  the  orig 
inal  than " 

"  Oh,  do  you  think  so?"  Her  eyes  were 
round.  "  Really,  when  he  brought  it  to 
me,  I  looked  at  it  a  long  time.  Then  he 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  13 

told  me  that  it  was  my  picture.  'Well/ 
said  I,  and  I  recognised  myself  for  the  first 
time." 


IV 


A  change — a  very  natural  one  to  me,  be 
cause  I  knew  a  thing  or  two;  a  startling, 
strange  one  to  the  world — came  over  our 
friend,  the  painter. 

"  We  knew  it  was  in  you,  old  fellow! " 
I  heard  a  Bohemian  say,  in  congratulating 
the  rising  reputation  of  the  artist.  Here 
is  his  retort: 

"  Why,  then,  in  the  name  of  heaven, 
didn't  you  draw  it  out  of  me  before?" 
He  was  so  solemn  that  his  friend  had  to 
laugh  to  make  matters  even.  Within  a 
year  and  a  half,  Tokio  believed  him  every 
inch  a  god,  and  a  certain  school  of  critics, 
seeing  that  Asada  was  too  big  for  the 
world,  was  already  preparing  for  him  a 
nameless,  blank  tombstone — just  like  the 
one  on  St.  Helena. 

Then,  one  fine  morning  came  the  ru- 


14  1RQKA: 

mour  of  his  marriage.  His  foes  sneered 
at  it  and  enjoyed  their  "  I  told  you  so!  " 
better  than  most  women.  And  his  friends 
opened  their  mouths  as  if  they  were  invit 
ing  him  to  bury  himself  therein,  and  said 
with  the  first  breath  which  came  back  to 
them: 

"  After  all  a  genius  is  a  queer  sort  of  a 
fool!" 


He  dropped  out  of  the  world  as  suddenly 
as  he  was  introduced  to  the  drawing-room 
of  fame.  This  time  his  friends  had  no 
trace  of  him.  And  I,  filled  with  the  spirit 
of  public  interest,  and  in  the  name  of  Ni 
kon's  art,  started  out  in  search  of  the  lost 
genius.  I  took  a  short  cut.  I  went  after 
0  Chika.  And,  as  is  usually  the  case,  I 
had  no  trouble  in  finding  her  mother  and 
her  home.  As  for  the  daisy  herself,  it  was 
quite  another  matter. 

"  Do  you  have  any  idea  where  she  is?  " 
"  Yes,  sir;  she  went  out  boating  with 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  15 

some  girls.  Shirobei,  our  neighbour,,  took 
them  out.  There  was  his  friend  with  him 
also." 

"May  I  ask  who  this  friend  of  your 
neighbour  is?  " 

"  Yes,  sir;  he  is  a  clerk,  I  think,  in  a 
clothing  store  in  Tokio." 

"  Thanks.  By-the-bye,  I  saw  some  pic 
tures,  two  years  ago,  don't  you  remember, 
at  your  tea-house  on  Sumida  bank.  Do 
you  know  what  0  Chika-san  has  done  with 
them?" 

"A — ah!  so  you  are  after  the  pictures 
also,  young  master?  So  many  persons 
came  to  ask  after  them,  and  because  the 
honourable  masters  wanted  to  buy  them, 
0  Chika  sold  them — almost  all  of  them." 

"Sol" 

"  Yes,  sir;  maybe  there  is  one  left." 

She  rose,  went  to  her  bureau,  and 
brought  me  a  roll.  We  unrolled  it  to 
gether.  Painted  upon  it  was  a  dilapidated 
tramp,  sitting  in  the  dust  of  a  highway, 
and  the  threads  of  his  rags  were  slipping 
and  flying  away  from  him  in  the  wind,  as 
if  they  were  thoroughly  ashamed  of  the 


1 6  IROKA: 

forlorn  wretch.  He  was  talking  to  his 
dog.  And  the  dog  had  a  look  upon  his 
face  which  became  better  a  potentate  of  an 
absolute  kingdom  listening  to  the  prayers 
of  a  beggar.  At  the  bottom  of  the  roll 
were  these  words,  written  in  the  stormy 
vigour  of  a  certain  pen  of  which  I  know 
a  thing  or  two: 

"  My  Last  Picture." 

"  It  was  sent  to  her  just  about  a  month 
ago,  now/'  said  the  old  lady. 

"When  is  0  Chika-san  coming  home? 
I  want  to  buy  this  picture  if  I  can." 

"  It's  past  time  now.  She  may  be  here 
any  moment." 

Fully  two  hours'  patient  waiting.  And 
in  an  hour  or  so  after  the  night  had  fallen, 
she  came  back — gay  as  a  bird. 

When  I  spoke  of  the  picture,  she  con 
sented  at  once  to  sell  it  to  me  for  a  price 
I  am  ashamed  to  mention  here,  and  added: 

te  Isn't  it  very  strange  ?  He  was  very 
nice  and  sweet  to  me  a  long  time.  Then 
one  day  he  came  down  the  road,  but  when 
he  was  within  a  hundred  feet  of  me,  he 
turned  round  sharply,  all  of  a  sudden,  and 


TALES    OF    JAPAN  17 

went  away.  I  did  not  call  after  him;  I 
never  thought  of  it.  Since  then  he  never 
came.  He  went  away  without  a  word. 
After  about  a  month — wasn't  it,  mother? 
— he  began  to  send  me  pretty  pictures  and 
letters  which  we  could  not  understand;  but 
our  neighbour  Shirobei,  he  read  them,,  and 
he  said  they  were  very  pretty." 

"  May  I  ask  what  were  you  doing  when 
he  came  down  the  road  the  last  time?  " 

"  Oh,  I  was  with  Sadakichi,  that  young 
fellow  you  saw  just  a  minute  ago — he 
works  in  a  big  Tokio  store — well,  we  were 
lying  in  a  clover  field  near  here  and  laugh 
ing.  I  did  not  see  him  till  he  was  very 
close  to  me." 

"  I  see." 

"  Are  you  going  already,  young  mas 
ter?" 

"Yes;  good  night!" 
2 


i8  1RQKA: 


VI 


Honour,,  wealth,  art-enthusiasm  had 
been  blowing  on  their  big  horns  to  sum 
mon  Asada.  He  did  not  appear.  What 
could  a  fellow  like  me  do?  I  heard  that 
0  Chika  had  married  the  clerk  of  the 
Tokio  store,  and  they  together  moved  to 
Kioto. 

As  for  the  genius,  we  heard  nothing 
about  him.  His  parents  thought  that 
he  was  out  on  his  pilgrimage  to  the  art 
treasuries  of  the  empire. 


VII 

Five  years  after  his  disappearance. 

The  artistic  public  of  Japan  had  cried 
after  him,  at  his  loss,  but  just  like  a  baby 
howling  after  a  piece  of  candy,  it  ex 
hausted  itself  in  its  lamentation,  and  by- 
and-bye  became  somewhat  sleepy  and 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  19 

seemed  to  have  dozed  off.  But  there 
were  a  few  unfortunate  ones  who  could 
not,  do  what  they  might,,  forget  him. 

On  my  way  home  to  my  native  town,  I 
stopped  at  the  Capital  of  Flowers,  as  Kioto 
is  called. 

It  was  in  the  season  when  Nature  be 
comes  absolutely  wild  in  her  prodigality, 
even  in  that  island  home  of  extravagancy 
— I  mean  in  matters  of  flowers,  dreams  of 
purple  haze,  of  perfumes,  of  coquettes  both 
of  feathers  and  dresses. 

One  who  is  thinking  seriously  of  depart 
ing  to  eternity  ought,  by  way  of  prepara 
tion,  to  spend  a  few  spring  seasons  at  Kioto. 
No,  time  does  not  seem  to  exist  there,  and 
indeed,  one  who  wants  to  be  intoxicated 
by  the  sdk£  of  vernal  sunbeams  has  no  time 
to  spend  in  thinking  of  any  such  thing  as 
Time.  The  whole  city  decks  herself  in 
honour  of  the  flowers,  and  you  will  see 
every  street  of  the  ancient  capital  turn 
into  an  avenue  filled  with  a  dense  popula 
tion  in  the  exaggerated  butterfly  wings 
called  the  sleeves  of  the  Japanese  'kimono. 

And  I  abandoned  myself  completely  to 


20  1ROKA: 

the  voluptuous  seductions  of  the  Kioto 
spring.  I  went  from  one  meisho  to  an 
other.  I  flirted  with  every  cherry  tree  that 
was  a-bloom  and  left  my  tribute  in  classic 
couplets  penned  on  a  rectangular  card, 
pendent  from  their  branches. 

Colour  and  perfume;  love  and  sdk£! 

Late  in  an  afternoon  I  was  at  the  Kiyo- 
mizu  Temple. 

For  centuries  it  had  been  the  rendezvous 
of  pious  pilgrims,,  and  the  pilgrims  of  art, 
of  philosophers,  poets,  and  especially  of 
lovers.  The  temple  is  built  on  the  waist 
of  a  hill.  One  of  its  verandas  looks  down 
into  a  court  many  hundred  feet  below. 
They  called  the  veranda  "the  Lover's 
Leap,"  because  ever  since  the  temple  stood 
there  came  to  it  lovers  who  were  unhappy 
in  this  world,  and,  true  to  their  religious 
convictions,  they  took  their  leap  from  that 
veranda  into  eternity  to  enjoy  in  the  realm 
beyond  the  bliss  of  love  which  this  life  de 
nied  them.  They  say,  and  I  do  believe 
them,  that  if  the  bodies  of  all  the  fair  girls 
who  have  thrown  themselves  down  from 
the  veranda  could  be  gathered  in  a  heap, 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  21 

they  would  more  than  fill  the  chasm.  But 
the  reason  why  the  people  had  not  closed 
the  veranda  or  shunned  it  altogether  was 
because  there  was  something  there  that 
would  more  than  erase  all  the  unpleasant 
associations.  And  if  you  were  there  with 
me  on  that  evening,  watching  the  twilight 
come  home  flying  on  her  purple  wings  to 
perch  upon  the  cherry  trees,  and  could 
hear  the  far-away  melody  of  the  unseen 
belfries  as  it  tumbled  into  the  valley  over, 
the  heads  of  pines,  as  if  it  were  the  lullaby 
to  put  the  twilight  to  sleep,  then  you 
would  not  hesitate  to  agree  with  me.  Upon 
my  word,  it  deserves  an  ode,  a  hymn.  But 
in  that  divinely  enticing  languor,  such  a 
task  as  composition  is  hardly  thought  of — 
at  least  by  such  an  idle  hand  as  mine,  and 
I  sighed  my  compliments  and  appreciation 
of  that  lyric  of  a  view. 

"Jumped?" 

"Who?" 

"Where?" 

"When?" 

"Where  is  he  now?" 


22  IRQKA: 

There  was  a  great  confusion.  And  the 
people  rushed  from  all  quarters  to  the 
other  end  of  the  veranda.  It  seems  that 
even  while  I  was  admiring  the  evening 
fading  on  the  pink  veil  of  cherries,,  there 
was  a  man  on  the  other  end  of  the  veranda 
around  a  corner  who  thought,  for  some 
reason  or  other,,  that  life  was  too  distaste 
ful  to  him. 

"  He  was  a  crazy  young  fellow,"  I  heard 
a  voice  say;  "  I  have  seen  him  hanging 
about  the  place  for  some  time.  Love? 
Oh,  no!  The  idea  is  absurd.  He  was  in 
miserable  rags,  and  I  know  he  must  have 
starved  a  long  while.  No  love  affair  in 
his  case  at  least!  " 

The  following  morning  I  took  up  a 
newspaper.  A  glance  at  it — and  it  fell 
from  my  hands. 

On  the  first  page  in  large  letters: 

"  The  Discovery  of  the  Long  Lost 
Painter! 

"Asada — a  mangled  heap  under  the 
Cherry  Cloud  of  the  Kiyomizu  Temple!  " 

And  the  whole  page  was  devoted  to  him. 
It  told  what  a  transcendent  genius  he  was, 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  23 

how  the  volcanic  zeal  for  his  art  had  been 
too  much  for  his  frail  body,  how  he  had 
lost  his  mind;  and  it  commented  exhaust 
ively  on  the  relation  between  genius  and 
insanity. 

The  art-loving  people  of  Kioto  buried 
him  with  all  the  expressions  of  their  ten 
der  respects.  Over  where  he  rests  is  a 
marble  shaft  with  some  fine  sentences  cut 
into  its  sheen.  Once  he  had  cried  for 
bread,  and  now  they  gave  him  stone — for 
such  is  the  way  of  the  world. 

As  I  watered  the  last  resting-place  of 
my  comrade  with  a  dewdrop  straight 
from  my  heart,  my  thought  wandered  back 
to  the  avenue  of  cherry  cloud  of  Sumida, 
to  the  tea-house  and — to  her.  I  knew  she 
was  somewhere  in  the  city  of  Kioto,  and 
could  not  refrain  from  the  idea  that  the 
very  marble  with  his  name  cut  deep  into 
its  snowy  light  would  move  at  the  sound 
of  her  voice. 

With  the  help  of  a  register  and  the 
police  it  was  not  difficult  to  find  her.  I 
recognised  her  at  the  first  glance.  She 
had  grown  very  much  stouter;  her  mar- 


24     IROKA:    TALES    OF    JAPAN 

riage  with  the  clerk,  her  kitchen  work,  and 
the  long  afternoons  at  her  washtubs  agreed 
with  her  perfectly.  She  gazed  at  me  a 
while,  ransacking  the  bag  of  her  memory. 
At  last  she  recognised  me.  With  both  of 
her  plump  bare  arms  in  the  air,  and  her 
eyes  merry  and  round  with  satisfaction  at 
recalling  a  face  of  so  long  ago,  she  cried: 

"  A — ah,  young  master,  I  know  you! — I 
know  you! " 

I  was  shocked.  But  I  had  the  fool 
hardy  persistence  to  stick  to  my  plan. 

"  Your  friend  Asada — do  you  remem 
ber  him  ?  He  died  yesterday  in  this 
city " 

"He  did!  Is  that  so?  Ha,  ha,  ha! 
Well,  I'm  sorry  ...  he  was  such  a 
funny  man,  wasn't  he,  though?" 


Sangatsu    Sakurano    Sakuji- 
bun 


Sangatsu    Sakurano    Sakuji- 
bun* 

A  Japanese  Love  Story 


The  beginning  of  it  all  was  on  a  dream  of 
a  fete  day  of  the  sangatsu  sakurano  saku- 
jibun.  That,  as  you  know,  is  also  the  sea 
son  when  some  other  kind  of  flowers  open. 
And  it  came  to  pass  in  the  dovetail  work 
of  Providence,  there  by  the  shrine  of  Uji- 
gami,  that  they  met  for  the  first  time, 
Hosoi  Shizuma  and  Tone. 

They  were  as  young  as  the  year.  But 
those  were  the  days — now  so  old — when 
the  hearts  of  people  flowered,  like  mume, 

*  The  third  month  when  the  cherry  blossoms 
blow. 


28  1ROKA: 

very  early  in  the  year.  There  was  one 
thing  which  was  not  very  kindly  to  them; 
for  that  was  the  time  when  the  clwnin 
(man-of-market)  was  classed,  in  the  con 
tempt  of  the  public,  just  above  the  eta 
(the  pariah);  and  wealth  did  not  serve,  as 
it  does  to-day,  for  the  men  of  lower  birth 
and  humbler  intellect  as  their  balloon. 

An  old  adage  in  Japan:  "  Mind  and 
money  do  not  go  together!  " 

And  Yone* — for  Fate  is  ever  jealous  of 
the  fair — was  a  daughter  of  a  chonin. 

And  Hosoi  was  a  samurai. 

And  Love — why,  he  has  no  caste  at  all. 

And  that  is  just  where  the  trouble  came. 


II 


At  home,  when  they  were  back  from  the 
fete,  Tone's  father  said  to  her  mother: 

"What  a  handsome  man-of-hue  he  is 
getting  to  be — the  young  master  of  Hosoi, 
I  mean.  Almost  as  fine  a  fellow  as  your 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  29 

husband  was  when  you  married  him, 
wife?" 

"Hum!" 

A  pause — then  she  said: 

"  It's  just  that  way  with  that  blood 
stained  family  of  Hosoi.  Their  fine  looks 
are  not  deeper  than  their  skin,  and  you 
would  say  that  they  are  Buddhas.  .  .  . 
But  don't  talk  to  me!  Ghouls,  demons, 
that's  what  they  are,  I  tell  you!  " 

In  order  to  understand  her,  you  ought 
to  know  one  or  two  things.  About  two 
generations  before  this — when  samurai 
used  to  call  their  swords  "  souls  " — Tone's 
grandfather  on  her  mother's  side,  touched 
the  sword  of  Hosoi's  ancestor.  The  samu 
rai  saw  that  it  was  intentional.  Now,  a 
touch  of  a  chonin  was  thought  to  be  the 
worst  stain  on  the  purity  of  a  samurai's 
sword.  The  samurai  was,  perhaps,  the 
most  sensitive  being  under  the  sky,  and  he 
could  no  more  stand  the  stain  of  that  type 
on  his  sword  than  a  high-spirited  woman 
the  loss  of  her  virtue.  The  result  was  that 
the  sword  of  Hosoi's  forefather  was  washed 
in  blood  at  once,  on  the  very  spot. 


30  1ROKA: 

They  talked  some  more,  the  parents  of 
Yone. 
Yone  listened. 


Ill 


"  An  impossible  case!  "  mused  Hosoi  in 
his  study. 

"  Impossible  ?  "  Love  has  no  such  word 
in  his  vocabulary:  so  he  danced  in  Hosoi's 
eyes  and  just  laughed  at  him. 

As  for  Yone,  she  prayed  Musubino-Kami 
in  particular,  and  all  the  other  eight  mil 
lion  gods  in  general.  And  why  should 
not  all  the  gods  and  Buddhas  help  her? 
To  be  sure,  it  was  no  small  thing  that  she 
was  asking  of  the  divine.  Let  a  man 
jump  over — in  those  days,  I  mean — the 
wall  between  the  samurai  class  and  clionin! 
If  he  succeeds,  then  let  him  try  next  to 
leap  over  the  moon;  and  I  am  sure  that  he 
will  find  the  latter  the  easier  of  the  two. 
But  Yone  thought — very  properly,  too — 
that  the  gods  and  Buddhas  were  made  for 
that  sort  of  thing. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  31 

When,,  therefore,  her  faith  in  the  omnip 
otence  of  the  deities  was  thoroughly  es 
tablished  in  her  heart,  and  the  doubt  as  to 
the  success  of  her  love  affair  was  a  mere 
cloud  of  yesterday,  there  came  a  pair  of 
large  tears  into  her  eyes,  bright  and  pure 
as  her  hope;  and  a  star  stealing  through 
the  fissure  of  the  amado  fell  into  them  and 
turned  them  into  wedding  jewels. 

The  night  was  far  advanced. 

Through  her  tears  looking  at  the  star — 
she  was  sure  it  was  her  guardian  star — 
she  smiled,  on  her  lonely  bed.  OK,  never 
in  all  her  days  had  she  been  so  lonely  as 
on  that  night.  She  fell  asleep.  In  her 
dreams,  however,  she  was  not  alone. 


IV 


Scarce  four  months  later.     By  the  sea: 

"  I  can  but  worship  you  from  afar." 

"  Hush,  Yone!     My  lotus-faced  girl  is 

as  pure  and  white  and  noble  as  Fuji-yama. 

A  Buddha  should  worship  her,  since  she 

is  too  good  for  the  adorations  of  mortals." 


32  IROKA: 

"Oh,  no!  I  dare  not  ask  for  too  much. 
Let  me  see  you  now  and  then — I  won't 
come  too  close  to  you.  For,  do  you  know, 
whenever  you  smile  on  me  as  sweetly  as 
you  are  doing  now,  I  am  afraid  that  the 
gods  will  punish  me  for  being  too  happy." 

"  What  nonsense! " 

The  twilight  was  falling  upon  them, 
and  the  moon  was  weaving  a  curtain  of 
silver  muslin  with  the  sea  fog. 


"  Something  the  matter  with  her;  I'm 
dead  certain  of  that!  "  said  the  tradesman's 
worthy  wife  in  one  of  her  prophetic 
moments. 

"  But  what  colour  do  you  make  out  your 
fox  to  be,  wife?" 

"  Love  foolishness,  my  dear!  " 

"Well,  I'll  be " 

It  was  very  plain  to  see,  and  no  wonder! 
She  could  not  hide  anything,  the  blushing 
neophyte!  She  made  eyes  at  the  flowers 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  33 

in  the  garden,  without  knowing  it;  and  a 
note  of  a  nightingale  made  her  quiver. 

There  was  a  terrible  confusion  in  the 
tradesman's  house  one  night.  A  fire  broke 
out  not  very  far  from  it.  The  mother 
sought  her  daughter  in  her  room.  There 
was  something  there  that  made  the  mother 
forget  the  fire. 

The  bed  was  spread  on  the  soft  matted 
floor.,  to  be  sure,  but  it  was  empty  as  a 
cicada's  shell. 

Some  time  afterward: 

"  Daughter,  my  daughter,  where  in  the 
world  have  you  been?  You! "  cried  her 
mother,  when  suddenly  she  came  upon 
Tone  in  a  dense  cloud  of  smoke,  some  dis 
tance  from  the  burning  house.  Yone 
stammered  out  that  she  had  fled  at  the 
very  first  alarm  of  fire.  In  her  excitement 
she  had  forgot  to  arouse  the  house  before 
she  left  it. 

Aye!     But  there  was  too  little  sign  of 
disorder  in  her  toilet  and  dress.     But  a 
woman! — has  she  ever  forgot  her  appear 
ance  under  any  circumstances? 
3 


34  IROKA: 


VI 


Yone  shrieked. 

But  what  really  happened  to  her  was 
that  she  fell  into  her  mother's  arms,  that 
was  all — nothing  so  terrible  in  that, surely! 
But  the  time  and  the  place  justified  her 
hysteria. 

It  was  after  midnight,  and  she  was 
climbing  half  way  up  the  bamboo  fence 
near  the  back  door  of  her  house. 

Her  parents  could  get  nothing  out  of 
Yone.  Oh,  they  punished  her,  coaxed  her, 
threatened  her,  and  all  that — in  vain. 

To  the  great  surprise  of  Yone,  her  par 
ents  allowed  her  full  freedom.  There  is 
something  ticklish  in  that  sort  of  liberty 
— that  is  to  say,  to  those  who  are  world- 
wise.  And  Yone,  simple  as  she  was,  did 
feel  rather  uncomfortable.  But  what 
could  she  do  ?  Youth,  poetry,  passion 
were  her  masters,  and  they  are  the  great 
est  cynics  on  earth,  who  laugh  at  all 
precautions. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  35 

"  "What  must  he  be  thinking  of  me — of 
my  absence?  "  was  her  thought,  her  only 
thought,  night  and  day. 


VII 

"  Doubted?  Oh,  no!  How  could  I, 
and  live?" 

"  Oh,  my  poor,  poor  lord!  Your  pain 
was  cruel,  so  cruel,  I  know!  " 

"  But  what  a  paradise  after  the  tor 
ment!  " 

The  voices  were  quick,  passionate ; 
nevertheless,  they  were  those  of  devotees 
who  worshipped.  One  might  have  said 
that  the  lovers  but  articulated  the  wild 
music  of  their  heart-throbs.  That  was  the 
only  thing  which  Tone's  father,  who 
played  a  spy  on  his  daughter,  could  catch 
distinctly  that  night.  The  rest  was  the 
sweet  wedding  of  murmurs,  like  a  concert 
of  sighs. 

On  his  way  home,  Hosoi  did  not  know 
that  he  had  an  escort.  The  young  samu 
rai,  masked,  disappeared  through  a  wicket. 


36  1ROKA: 

His  escort  remained  out  in  the  night. 
There  where  he  stood,  ten  thousand  shad 
ows  of  the  universe  tumbled  down  in  a 
heap  about  him.  He  outraged  the  so 
lemnity,  which  was  neither  of  man  nor  of 
things,  with  his  antics.  His  gestures  were 
monstrous.  As  for  his  facial  expressions, 
they  were  far  more  hideous,  as  ugly  as  the 
ugliest  children  of  imagination,  because 
one  could  not  see  them,  and  had  to  guess 
at  them. 

When  you  remember  what  Hosoi's  an 
cestor  had  done  to  that  of  his  wife,  do  you 
wonder  that  the  poor  man-of-market  lost 
his  head  when  he  found  that  his  daughter's 
lover  was  a  Hosoi? 


VIII 

One  corner  of  the  dozo  (a  thick-walled 
godown)  of  the  chonin,  on  the  following 
day,  was  turned  into  a  Spanish  cloister  of 
the  sunless  days  of  the  Inquisition. 

Tone's  arms  were  fastened  at  her  back; 
and  the  stout  hemp  rope  had  no  heart.  It 


TALES    OF    JAPAN  37 

was  flung  across  the  horizontal  beam  over 
her  head,  and  its  free  end  was  wound  about 
a  cylindrical  roller  turned  by  a  crank. 

"Consent,  will  you?"  shrieked  her 
mother,  savage  as  a  tigress. 

At  the  obstinate  silence  of  her  daughter, 
she  turned  the  crank.  The  girl  was  sus 
pended  in  the  air,  her  toes  barely  touching 
the  earthen  floor.  The  entire  weight  of 
her  body,  therefore,  was  on  her  twisted 
arms.  Oh,  they  billowed,  twitched,  and 
twisted  in  the  paroxysm  of  pain,  those  ex 
quisite  lily  arms  of  hers!  There  were  no 
tears  in  her  eyes,  into  which  blood  rushed 
in  tongues  of  fire.  There  is  something  of 
a  martyr  in  every  woman.  Yone  had  a 
great  deal  of  it.  Her  black  hair  fell  in  a 
huge,  unconfined  mass,  full  of  light,  upon 
her  snow-pale  face.  One  might  have  said 
that  heaven's  penman  had  spilt  some  ink 
on  the  pale  book  of  death. 

Not  quite  eighteen,  with  the  features 
which  looked  like  the  composite  photo 
graph  of  poet's  dreams — in  short,  nature's 
aristocrat!  Many  (and  surely  Hosoi  was 
one  of  them)  who  had  seen  this  refined 


38  1ROKA: 

bloom  on  the  coarse  stalk  of  a  tradesman's 
family,  had  felt  as  if  they  had  found  a 
chaste  lily  where  they  had  looked  for 
a  tadpole. 

It  is  true  that  time  and  again  faint 
groans  escaped  her  as  the  rope  tightened; 
her  features  twisted  also.  But  her  stoi 
cism  was  Buddha-like. 

"  You  filthy  beast,  you!  Will  you  con 
sent — yes  or  no  ?  "  cried  her  mother,  more 
furious  than  ever.  "  Will  you — yes  or  no  ? 
Answer!  Why  don't  you  answer  me? 
You  unclean  thing! " 

The  crank  turned  with  a  fearful  sound, 
like  that  of  the  smashing  of  bones. 

The  plan  which  Yone's  mother  pro 
posed,  and  for  the  execution  of  which  she 
demanded  the  girl's  consent,  was  this: 

Yone  should  keep  the  appointment  on 
that  very  night;  allure  her  lover  to  the 
very  verge  of  the  cliff  where  there  was  a 
stool-like  rock,  and,  in  the  midst  of  her 
love-making,  step  behind  him  and  lean  on 
his  shoulders — a  common  attitude  with 
the  Japanese  lovers — and  then  suddenly 
push  him  violently  down  into  the  abyss. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  39 

All  of  a  sudden,  the  girl  who  had  been 
so  stoical  and  stone-like,  gave  way. 

She  consented. 

On  the  following  conditions: 

That  she  should  be  allowed  to  leave  her 
lover  on  the  verge  of  the  precipice  or  make 
him  walk  to  it  himself;  and  that  her 
mother,  instead  of  herself,  should  push 
the  young  man  over. 

It  was  her  mother,  she  argued,  who 
should  take  revenge  on  the  offspring  of 
the  murderer  of  her  grandsire.  Was  it 
not  cruel  enough  punishment  for  Yone  to 
witness  the  fearful  death  of  her  lover? 

It  was  agreed  that  Yone  should  make 
her  lover  walk  to  the  edge  of  the  rock 
under  the  pretext  of  spying  a  boat,  and 
then  her  mother  should  step  out  softly 
from  her  hiding  place  in  a  little  cove  close 
to  the  verge  and  dash  him  down  the  chasm. 


40  1ROKA: 


IX 


The  moon  was  red,  and,  like  a  ripe  fruit, 
was  falling  into  the  silver  plate  of  the  sea. 
Hosoi  watched  it  from  the  shore,  by  the 
cove.  He  was  dreaming  sweetly,  just  like 
the  moonlit  sea  at  his  feet;  but  his  feelings 
were  full  of  strange,  restless  thrills,  just 
like  the  sea. 

He  did  not  wait  there  very  long  that 
night. 

"Arftnotki!"  with  which  Yone  threw 
herself  at  his  feet  and  clung  to  his  sleeves. 

No  passionate  embraces  were  exchanged 
— for  the  hand  of  culture  is  very  strong  in 
Japan — even  upon  the  fever  heat  of  love. 

"  Listen,  Yone;  to-morrow  at  the  usual 
hour  .  .  .  will  that  suit  you?  I  have 
arranged  everything  with  my  old  nurse. 
We  will  be  married  at  her  house/' 

"  Oh,  but " 

"  Now,  Yone,  you  have  promised  me 
never  to  use  that  expression." 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  41 

"But  what  will  become  of  you — you, 
a  samurai,  and  marry  a  daughter  of  a 
chonin!  Think  of  the  anger  of  your 
father;  your  mother  would  die  of  tears!  " 

"  Oh,  you  have  been  telling  me  that  for 
these  three  months! " 

Of  course  Hosoi  was  immovable. 

The  plan  which  he  proposed,  and  which 
at  last,  after  many  long  protests,  she 
accepted,  was  this: 

They  would  be  married  the  following 
night.  And  then,  immediately  after  the 
ceremony,  they  would  leave  the  town  and 
find  a  little  cozy  corner  in  a  mountain 
village  far  away — what  a  dream  of  a 
happy  cottage  home  that  would  be  for 
them! 

"  I  will  gather  all  the  wild  flowers  you 
want,  Yone.  Ah!  how  I  will  enjoy 
chopping  wood  for  our  own  hearth! " 
laughed  Hosoi. 

Their  future,  to  him,  was  a  perfect 
pastoral. 

Then  the  girl  sobbed. 

Had  Hosoi  known  how  heroically  she 
had  forced  back  those  sobs!  He  could 


42  IROKA: 

hardly  believe  his  own  ears.  He  took  the 
drooping  face  of  the  girl  in  his  hands. 

"What,  tears!" 

But  he  could  not  imagine  the  cause  of 
it,  unhappy  Hosoi. 

Silencing  his  questions,  Yone  said  to 
him: 

"  This  is  our  last  night  at  this  dear 
place,  our  tryst.  And  then,  too,  I  am  too 
happy.  I  can't  contain  myself.  You  see 
I  have  resisted  my  weakness  for  some  time. 
I  could  not  stand  the  idea  that  I  was  to 
degrade  you.  But  I  feel  that  I  can  resist 
it  no  longer — forgive  me,  will  you  not?  I 
am  ready  to  do  a  very  great  penance  for 
this.  Oh,  I  am  too  happy:  too  much  bliss 
gives  me  tears! " 

And  Hosoi,  as  is  so  often  the  case  with 
lovers — supreme  egoists  that  they  are! — 
allowed  himself  to  be  deceived. 

"  Let  us  have  the  sweetest  time  here  to 
night,  for  we  may  not  come  back  to  this 
place  again.  Come  ! "  she  said,  and 
through  the  dusk  looked  up  to  his  face. 

And  the  stars  fell  into  her  tears. 

"  "Will  you  do  me  one  sweet  deed?  " 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  43 

"What  is  that,  Tone?" 

"  Call  me  your  own  wife — just  once." 

"  My  wife  ?  Why,  my  darling,  precious 
wife!  My  own! " 

"  That  is  the  sweetest  thing  I  have  ever 
heard! "  she  murmured  softly,  dreamily, 
as  if  to  herself.  Some  more  tears  came 
into  her  eyes. 

The  hours — so  sweet  for  Hosoi;  very  sad 
for  Tone — flew  like  wings. 

"  Will  you  condescend  to  do  me  another 
favour  to-night?" 

"  If  you  but  speak,  Yone,  you  may  be 
sure  that  your  lover  hears  a  command  of 
a  queen/' 

"  Condescend,  then,  to  lend  me  your 
sword,  Hosoi-san — just  one  of  them." 

"  My  sword?  What  do  you  mean,  Yone? 
My  sword?" 

"Yes,  your  Jiaori  (over  garment)  and 
mask  also." 

"  Why,  of  course !  But  tell  me  first,  will 
you  not,  what  use  you  may  find  for  them? 
Forgive  me  for  saying  so,  but  there  is 
something  strange  in  your  ways  to-night. 
I  can't  help  but  notice  it." 


44  IROKA: 

She  laughed  a  merry  little  laugh — that 
was  her  only  reply.  One  may  say  of  it, 
"  What  a  superhuman  heroism!  "  But 
really  that  is  no  word  for  it.  And  yet, 
you  hear  a  man  say  that  woman  is  a 
coward. 

After  a  little  while,  seeing  that  her 
lover  was  not  quite  satisfied,  she  reassured 
him: 

"  Oh,  nothing — nothing  specially!  " 
with  that  brave  mastery  over  herself  which 
duped  Hosoi  completely.  "You  see,  the 
moon  has  gone  and  the  roads  are  dark  to 
night.  If  one  should  see  that  I  am  a 
samurai,  I  certainly  would  be  safer,  don't 
you  think?" 

"  Allow  me  to  accompany  you  then." 

"  Oh,  no!  If  ever  we  were  to  be  found 
together! " 

«  But " 

"  Ah!  kochino  hito,  did  you  not  swear  on 
that  very  sword  of  yours  that  you  would 
never  deny  anything  to  me  ?  And  now,  at 
the  very  first  thing  I  have  ever  asked  of 
you " 

For  a  samurai  to  part  with  his  sword, 


TALES   OF   JAPAN  45 

that  certainly  was  an  extraordinary  thing. 
But  was  he  not  ready  to  die  for  her  any 
time,  and  just  to  satisfy  her  whims  even? 
And,  after  all,  is  Love  ever  so  happy  as 
when  he  is  called  upon  to  do  some  heroic 
sacrifice  ? 

He  consented. 

Then  she  urged  him  to  return  ahead  of 
her  that  night.  She  wanted  to  pray  to 
the  god  of  the  sea  by  herself,  after  he  was 
gone.  All  appeared  reasonable  to  Hosoi. 

Then  the  farewell. 

Her  eyes,  half  closing  in  transport,  as  if 
she  were  for  an  instant  peeping  into 
heaven,  in  spite  of  the  bitter  tears  which 
moistened  them;  and  that  smile  of  hers 
that  stole  over  her  face — the  face  which 
was  feeling  the  last  caress  of  Hosoi's  eyes 
on  this  earth. 

They  say  that  an  atom  of  pleasure 
snatched  from  the  very  chaos  of  pain,  like 
a  drop  of  cold  water  on  the  lips  of  the 
burning,  is  the  most  exquisite.  And  the 
most  exquisite  pleasure  was  hers,  poor  girl! 

As  for  Hosoi,  who  was  as  utterly  igno 
rant  of  the  situation  as  the  rock  by  his  side, 


46  1ROKA: 

he  laughed  inwardly  at  the  stupidity  of  the 
Chinese  emperor  who  had  hunted  pleasure 
through  the  forest  of  flesh.,  over  the  lake 
of  wine,  and  through  the  scented  boudoirs 
of  three  thousand  women. 

"  Augustly  return  home,  safely! "  said 
the  girl. 

The  young  man  hesitated  a  moment, 
without  knowing  just  why.  Yone  was  at 
his  feet  once  more. 

There  was  something  in  the  expression 
of  the  girl  which  was  more  than  enough 
to  make  the  reputation  of  the  most  am 
bitious  artist. 


The  ghost-like  sea  fog  dropped  a  cur 
tain  between  them. 

She  confined  her  huge  mass  of  hair  into 
his  mask,  and  donned  his  haori.  She 
threw  away  her  enormous  obi  (girdle)  and 
gathered  her  dress  with  her  under  sash. 
She  thrust  into  this  the  sword — to  die  with 
the  "  soul  "  of  her  beloved  at  her  side!  It 
gave  her  colourless  lips  their  last  smile. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  47 

Then  she  rose. 

But  she  fell  again  upon  the  sands  where 
her  lover  had  sat,,  and  caressed  the  spot. 
And,  as  if  she  were  struck  with  a  bright 
idea  all  of  a  sudden,  she  took  off  the  mask 
and  let  down  her  hair  and  gathered  it  with 
her  left  hand  over  her  nape.  Then  she 
unsheathed  the  sword  with  her  right  and 
drew  the  razor-like  sheen  through  the  dark 
mass,  like  a  nun  shaving  her  head  when 
she  renounces  the  world.  She  dug  a  little 
grave  in  the  sandy  spot  which  she  had 
caressed  with  her  bosom.  In  it  she  buried 
her  hair. 

Freely,  this  time,  for  there  was  none  by 
her  side  from  whom  she  should  conceal  her 
emotions,  she  watered  the  grave  with  her 
silent  tears.  In  order  that,  perhaps,  the 
seed  which  she  had  buried  might  spring 
up,  flower,  and  bear  fruit  in  a  kinder  day 
— in  the  garden  of  her  lover's  memory 
land. 

Failing  to  find  her  at  his  nurse's  house, 
Yone  was  sure  that  Hosoi  would  come 

there  the  very  next  night — and "  If 

he  would  wait  for  me  in  vain,  and  in  my 


48  1ROKA: 

stead  find  my  hair;  if  he  would  hear  in  the 
tiding  of  winds  of  my  death  (she  thought)  ? 
If  he  would  come  to  me  to  join  me,  woulcl 
I  not  welcome  him,  oh,  with  what  out 
bursts  of  joy!  And  will  I  not  make  him 
happy  in  that  shadow-entangling  world, 
as  in  this?" 

Nevertheless,  with  that  transcendental 
logic  of  women: 

"May  he  live  long  and  happily,"  was 
her  last  prayer. 

Again  she  wept  over  that  sacred  spot 
wherein  she  had  buried  the  glory  of  her 
youth. 

She  covered  her  head  in  the  mask 
again  and  wandered  out  of  the  cove,  al 
most  lifeless,  all  in  a  dream.  She  climbed 
the  steep  slant  of  the  rocky  ledge  stoop- 
ingly,  with  her  hand  on  the  hilt  of  the 
sword,  so  that  the  end  of  the  scabbard 
might  protrude  from  under  the  over 
garment  and  attract  her  mother's  atten 
tion. 

As  soon  as  she  reached  the  top  of  the 
ledge  she  made  as  long  strides  as  she 
could.  Happily,  her  height  was  not  much 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  49 

lower  than  her  lover's,  and  the  stool- 
shaped  rock  was  within  a  few  paces.  She 
sunk  down  upon  it.  She  stared  into  the 
abyss  below. 

A  moment. 

And  she  was  knocked  from  behind  with 
such  violence  that  she  was  robbed  of  her 
breath. 

She  heard  the  blood-curdling  shriek 
above  her  head: 

"  My  family's  foe;  my  daughter's  temp 
ter!  " 

How  completely  was  the  mother  re 
venged! — on  the  verge  of  the  cliff,  smiling 
hideously  over  the  abysmal  grave  of  that 
shameless  wretch,  Hosoi  Shizuma — as  she 
thought. 

Before  the  echoes  of  her  voice  woke 
from  the  rocky  walls  there  came  to  her, 
mingled  with  the  thunders  of  the  waves 
storming  the  reefs  below,  accompanied 
with  the  groans,  laughters,  and  melodies  of 
the  mysterious,  a  voice — a  human  voice — 
a  woman's  voice! 

It  said:  "  Farewell,  mother! — Fare 
well!  " 

4 


50  IROKA: 

Her  own  daughter's  voice! 

She  reeled. 

Burning  from  the  fire  of  her  emotion 
and  freezing  from  the  ice  of  dread,  almost 
at  the  same  time;  there  she  was,  the 
mother  !  What  an  awful  pendulum, 
swinging  over  the  verge  of  insanity  with 
heaven  and  earth  in  huge  eruption  before 
her  eyes! 

All  at  once  a  sweet,  strange  thought 
came  to  the  stricken  mother — as  it  does 
so  often  to  a  person  in  a  spout  of  emotional 
excitement. 

The  demon  of  the  cliff  was  playing  a 
trick  on  her!  So  she  turned  to  the  cove, 
where  she  was  sure  that  her  daughter 
was  weeping  over  the  sad  fate  of  her 
lover. 

She  called:  "Tone!  Oh,  Yone-ya, 
Yone-ya,  Yone! " 

From  dim  corners  somewhere  came  back 
to  her  the  reply: 

"Yone-ya!  Oh,  Yone-ya — ya!  Yone! 
Yone— ne— ne!  " 

Echoes  mocked  her. 

Suddenly  her  arms  shot  up,  and  as  sud- 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  51 

denly  they  came  to  a  halt  in  mid  air. 
Then  not  only  her  arms,  but  her  whole 
body  sunk  as  in  a  process  of  putrefaction. 

Once  more — cruel  things,  these  resur 
rections  with  the  certainty  of  death  at  the 
end  of  them! 

She  flew  down  the  steep  slant  into  the 
sheltered  cove — but  an  hour  ago  Love's 
sweetest  bower! 

"My  daughter  must  have  fainted 
there/'  she  thought. 

She  forgot  her  atrocious  act  at  the  verge 
of  the  cliff,  and  with  it  the  sweetness  of 
revenge,  tasted  but  for  the  fraction  of  a 
second,  and  that  tragic  cry,  "  Farewell, 
mother!" — she  forgot  all,  the  hapless 
woman. 

She  was  there  in  the  empty  cove;  felt 
every  corner  and  nook  of  it  with  her  out 
stretched  arms,  like  a  miser  after  a  lost 
coin  in  a  lightless  closet. 

And  when,  at  last,  the  recollection  of 
what  she  had  done,  seen,  heard,  there  by 
the  cliff,  rushed  back  into  her  head 

She  was  found  senseless  and  was  taken 


52     IROKA:    TALES    OF   JAPAN 

home.  She  was  restored,  but  neither  to 
her  home  nor  to  the  world,  but  to  the 
bosom  of  the  Buddhist  temple  and  to  the 
hell  of  remorse. 


A  Samurai  Girl 


A  Samurai  Girl 


She  is  not  a  rose  of  May  now — -that  is 
very  certain.  She  was,  ten  years  ago,,  its 
envy — this,  I  swear,  is  also  very  true. 

From  the  servant  quarters,  a  remark  like 
the  following  used  to  reach  me  rather  too 
often : 

"  Domo,  dreadfully  evil  of  looks!  " 

I  knew  of  whom  they  were  talking,  and 
the  reason  why  I  did  not  burn  the  whole 
race  of  the  evil-tongued  maids  off  the  face 
of  the  globe  was  simply  because  she  did 

NOTE. — A  "samurai,"  it  may  be  permitted  to  ex 
plain,  is  a  member  of  the  highest  of  the  four  castes 
that  existed  in  feudal  times  in  Japan.  He  was  per 
mitted  to  wear  two  swords.  The  membership  of 
this  haughty  and  aristocratic  class  was  based  on 
heredity  or  some  distinguished  military  glory. 
They  never  laboured,  and  found  their  pleasure  in 
fencing  and  military  practices.  The  caste-lines 
are  now  abolished  legally,  but  the  samurai  natu 
rally  cling  to  their  traditions  with  pride. 


56  1ROKA: 

not  wish  it.  However,  her  neighbours — 
and  some  of  those  who  call  themselves  the 
friends  of  the  family — would  hesitate  but 
very  little  to  give  you  information  of  a 
very  much  darker  hue  about  her. 

For  example: 

"  Crooked  of  nature — obstinate  as  a 
chestnut  burr — in  short,  a  she-om  /  " 

"  She  can't  marry  now,  but  why  didn't 
she  ?  What  a  sacrilege  to  have  trifled  with 
the  devotions  of  so  many  noble  hearts  as 
she  did!  No  wonder  she  is  ugly  now — 
the  punishment  of  the  gods!  " 

"  I  wonder  if  she  thinks  herself  still  too 
good  for  a  prince,  poor  girl!  " 

This  last  was  often  said  by  the  kinder 
hearted  of  her  friends. 

As  a  matter  of  fact  a  prince  did  ask  for 
her  hand. 

And,  although  she  did  not  know  it  (per 
haps  she  might  have  suspected),  it  was  she 
— not  a  12.2  centimetre  shell  from  a  Chi 
nese  cannon — who  sent  him  seeking  a  sad 
requiem  in  the  sighs  of  the  seaweeds  at 
the  bottom  of  the  Wei-hai-wei  Bay. 

My  sister — for  the  subject  of  the  sketch 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  57 

is  no  other  than  she — ever  impressed  me  as 
a  singular  person.  We  lived  in  a  house, 
strange  to  the  eyes  of  the  time,  an  old- 
style  mansion,  out  of  which  some  three 
generations  had  passed  with  no  promise 
of  ever  returning  to  it;  a  mansion  heavy 
with  the  odour  of  Feudalism  (now  gone, 
leaving  behind  it,  like  a  forgiving  lover, 
all  its  heroism  and  poetry),  and  such  a 
one  that  when  one  stands  before  it,  he  is 
tempted  to  say:  "  Here,  now,  I  have  found 
the  graveyard  of  History!  "  And  my  sis 
ter  seemed  to  be  the  genius  of  the  mauso 
leum  of  the  past.  We  saw  our  sister  very 
rarely  in  those  days.  I,  for  one,  did  not 
know  where  she  was  keeping  herself  or 
what  occupied  her  hours.  When  she  did 
come  to  us,  she  seemed  as  silent  and  as 
far  away  as  the  quaint  architecture  of 
that  samurai  mansion. 

The  palace  of  Kameyama  is  empty  now, 
for  the  prince  had  left  it  a  quarter  of  a 
century  ago  for  Tokio.  On  the  wall  of 
the  alcove  of  the  throne  room,  there  is  a, 
kakemono.  On  it  you  can  see  an  orchid 
in  bloom,  clinging  to  a  rocky  precipice 


58  IROKA: 

over  a  dark  abyss — a  piece  of  needle 
work. 

This  orchid  bloom,,  like  an  unexpected 
touch  of  an  angel,  or  a  sudden  burst  of 
your  dead  mother's  memory,  or  any  other 
sacred  thing,  never  seems  to  fail  to  send  a 
thrill  through  you  whenever  you  look  at 
it.  One  evening  I  was  standing  on  the 
beach  of  Kobe  and  saw  an  arm  of  a  girl 
quiver  in  the  gloaming,  as  she  stretched 
it  after  her  lover,  who  was  just  going  to 
sail  to  Hawaii.  The  artless  grace  which 
passion  gave  to  that  arm  made  me  think 
of  the  orchid  bloom  from  my  sister's 
needle.  A  look,  even  a  careless  look,  will 
be  enough  to  tell  you  that  the  bloom  is 
stretching  out  its  head  for  something — 
for  sunshine,  perhaps;  for  something  else, 
more  likely. 

Every  one  who  saw  the  work  took  care  to 
ask  the  name  of  the  artist.  And  they  re 
membered  it  after  they  had  forgotten  some 
of  the  names  of  their  personal  friends. 

You  know  the  time  was  in  Japan — now 
it  is  all  gone — when  a  commercial  spirit 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  59 

in  any  form  whatever  was  looked  upon  as 
degrading.  The  samurai  would  have  died 
first  before  he  would  do  anything  for  pay; 
everything  he  did  came  straight  out  of 
his  heart  or  from  some  sense  of  duty.  He 
who  sold  his  art  work,  whether  it  be  of  pen, 
brush,  chisel,  or  needle,  was  thought  crim 
inal,  and  nothing  was  so  galling  to  the  sen 
sitive  nature  of  an  artist  as  the  traffic  in 
the  fruits  of  the  garden  of  his  art-dreams. 
There  were  thousands  of  men  who 
bought  and  sold  in  those  days,  but  they 
were  merchants;  and  they  were  classed,  in 
the  contempt  of  public  esteem,  just  above 
the  eta  at  the  very  bottom  of  our  social 
ladder. 

There  was  a  suit  of  armour  in  our  fam 
ily.  In  it,  three  centuries  ago,  one  of  our 
ancestors  persuaded  History  to  print  his 
name.  That,  therefore,  was  the  greatest 
treasure  of  our  house.  Too  sacred  for 
exhibition,  like  the  gods  in  the  shrines, 
we  were  allowed  to  look  only  at  the  out 
side  of  the  chest  which  contained  it. 

The  yoroibitsu,  or  the  armour  chest, 


60  1ROKA: 

used  to  stand  on  a  tokonoma,  and,  as  the 
years  came  and  went,  we  were  taught  to 
pay  our  worshipful  respect  to  it  on  the 
new  year's  day. 

In  my  youthful  days,  when  I  used  to 
have  new  wine  instead  of  blood  in  my 
veins,  the  desire  of  my  heart  was  to  have  a 
peep  at  the  armour  which  was  in  the  chest. 

One  morning  I  missed  the  chest  from 
the  tokonoma.  Where  could  it  have  pos 
sibly  gone?  When  I  found  it  standing  in 
a  corner  of  my  sister's  room,  I  said  to  her: 

"  Our  ancestor's  armour,  is  it  in  that 
chest,  sister?" 

"  Oh,  yes! » 

"  Condescend  to  show  it  to  me." 

"  The  key  is  lost." 

And  that  was  all  she  said. 

She  was  the  eldest  sister,  and  beside  her 
I  had  two  more.  They  were  all  married 
and  happy,  looking  into  the  heaven-made 
photographs  of  their  own  youth  in  the 
faces  of  their  children. 

She  used  to  correct  my  poems,  this  eld 
est  sister  of  mine.  And  one  moonlight 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  6 1 

night,,  when  I  was  thinking  a  thing  or  two 
which  I  do  not  care  to  make  public,  and  as 
I  could  not  tempt  sleep  inside  the  curtain 
of  my  closed  eyelids,  I  went  to  my  ink- 
stone.  With  the  black-traced  fancy  of 
mine,  I  rushed  into  my  sister's  room  to 
surprise  her.  I  did  surprise  her  with  a 
vengeance. 

She  started,  wild-eyed,  fawnlike.  And 
crash!  down  came  the  lid  of  the  armour 
chest. 

"  So,  you  found  the  key!  " 

She  did  not  answer. 

A  few  days  later  she  took  to  her  bed. 
She  became  very  ill.  The  physicians  gave 
her  up.  One  night,  when  I  was  sitting  up 
with  her,  she  asked  me: 

"Am  I  dying?  What  say  the  physi 
cians?  " 

I  told  her  an  untruth,  as  a  matter  of 
course.  She  smiled  and  said  to  me,  in  a 
tone  that  sounded  as  if  she  were  very  sorry 
for  me: 

"Oh,  I  well  know  ...  to  death 
fated! " 

Then  she  fixed  her  eyes  upon  me — light- 


62  1ROKA: 

less,  tired,  faded  now,  but  which  (as  any 
of  her  idolaters  of  a  happier  yesterday  of 
her  bloom  could  have  testified)  used  to  in 
voke  the  gods,  make  toys  of  human  souls; 
the  eyes  which  could  apotheosize  or  cru 
cify  a  man  at  will.  Then  slowly  turning 
her  gaze  toward  the  armour  chest,  she  said: 

"  Brother,  the  chest  is  open/' 

As  I  rose  to  examine  the  contents  of  the 
chest,  after  that  permission  from  her,  she 
buried  her  face  in  the  futon  of  her  bed. 

Happily — or  unhappily,  I  don't  know 
which — she  did  not  die.  But  the  contents 
of  the  armour  chest  I  had  seen  already. 
She  could  not  wash  my  memory  clean  of 
the  impressions  which  they  had  made. 

Nothing  very  extraordinary,  the  con 
tents  of  the  chest. 

A  pile  of  papers,  that  was  all.  They 
were  a  heap  of  receipts  from  a  Kioto 
merchant,  a  dealer  in  embroidered  goods. 
I  glanced  at  them  one  by  one — carefully 
— as  if  I  were  looking  over  my  death  sen 
tence  which  was  indistinctly  written.  At 
the  very  bottom  of  the  pile  I  came  to  one. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  63 

It  was  a  receipt  for  a  suit  of  armour,  and 
for  the  first  time  I  saw  where  the  ancient 
treasure  of  the  family  had  gone. 

Then  it  was  true  ...  I  stared  at 
nothing  in  particular,  meaning  to  stare  at 
the  gods  .  .  .  Was  it  true,  then,  that 
in  order  that  she  might  hold  for  a  while, 
at  least,  our  family  from  the  jaws  of  starva 
tion  and  poverty,  in  order  that  she  might 
at  least  marry  her  younger  sisters  happily; 
in  order  that  gossip  may  not  grow  fat  on 
our  family  name;  she,  martyr-like  .  .  . 
Oh,  ye  gods! 

So  then  the  chest  was  not  the  shrine  of 
the  ancient  glory,  but  was  the  grave  of  her 
beauty,  her  youth,  her  happy  days! 

When  I  turned  to  her,  blood  shooting 
into  my  eyes  in  tongues  of  fire,  she  said 
faintly: 

"  I  am  going  .  .  .  and  hereafter, 
you!  .  .  .  Brother,  do  you  under 
stand?" 

I  understood.  But  why  did  she  not  tell 
me  of  it  before? 

She  told  me,  as  I  have  said,  that  the  key 
to  the  yoroibitsu  was  lost. 


64      IROKA:  TALES    OF   JAPAN 

And  I,  who  looked  at  the  ravage  which 
overwork  wrought  on  her  gentle  frame;  I, 
who  could  see  what  it  had  robbed  her  of, 
my  once  beautiful  sister;  have  I  not  a 
ground  to  wonder  if  it  were  the  key  of  life 
—not  of  the  armour  chest— that  she 
meant? 


A  Japanese  Garden 


A  Japanese  Garden 


Iriaino  Kane — -from  a  bell  tower — sent 
a  shower  of  silver  melody  across  the  even 
tide.  Dusk  flew  out  of  the  skirts  of  the 
weeping  willows.  The  mist-veiled  cedar 
groves,  the  bamboo  back  doors  of  the 
shoya's  (burgomaster's)  house,  and  the 
love  dream  of  cherry  blossoms  were  alto 
gether  enough  to  make  the  figures  of  a 
mathematician  spell  out  a  poem. 

Cottages  with  thatched  caps  had  more 
kinf  oiks  at  Kameyama  than  any  other  type 
of  architecture.  But  this  story  is  con 
cerned  with  just  one  of  them.  Age  and 
rain  had  made  quite  an  impression  on  the 
wheat-straw  roof  of  the  cottage,  but  mosses 
patched  it  over  with  velvet.  The  pillars 
were  very  far  from  being  steady,  but  the 
worms  must  have  thought  it  quite  fashion 
able  to  make  their  summer  homes  therein. 


68  1ROKA: 

A  thread  of  pale  thin  smoke — a  stream  of 
curled  pathos — issued  from  its  square 
opening,  at  once  a  chimney  and  a  window. 
One  side  of  the  cottage  was  screened  off 
with  shoji.  Age  had  painted  it,  so  that 
Imagination  could  come  along  and  colour 
it  with  either  a  ruddy  claret  or  an  ashy 
coffee  tint  as  she  might  choose;  and  some 
thing  over  and  above  mere  age  seemed  to 
have  treated  it  with  a  certain  unkindness 
and  made  it  yawn  at  places.  "  Ears  in  the 
wall/'  is  an  old  Japanese  saying.  The  pro 
verb  might  have  added,  "  A  shoji  is  many 
mouthed/'  From  those  mouths  a  voice 
stole  out.  It  was  rather  sweet,  not  lack 
ing  in  the  persuasive  ring — a  gift  of  a 
short  yet  uneventful  life,  let  us  say.  The 
voice  said: 

"  Don't!  Dearest,  don't  look  that  way. 
Don't  you  see  how  happy  I  am?  " 

And  what  sceptic  could  doubt  that  smile 
of  hers? 

"What's  the  matter,  dear?  Look 
straight  at  me.  .  .  .  Now  tell  me,  hus 
band,  what  makes  you  think  that  I  care 
anything  about  my  old  home,  mother,  or 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  69 

the  pretty  things?  Look  here,  dearest" 
(he  who  peeped  into  the  miserable  room 
just  then  could  have  seen  a  dear  tableau), 
"  haven't  I  got  you  ?  Poor  ?  Nonsense !  " 

And  the  smile  with  which  she  punctu 
ated  her  sentence!  Upon  such,  a  man 
looks,  and  farewell  freedom! — a  slave 
straightway  and  forever  more. 

"  I  am  a  cursed  fool,"  said  the  man,  and 
followed  it  with  something  far  stronger. 
He  was  silent  up  to  that  time,  and  his  eyes 
were  fixed  on — why,  all  sinners  look  in  the 
same  direction,  you  understand. 

A  silence. 

"But  I  can't  understand  it,"  he  went 
on. 

Beneath  his  crossed  arms  his  breast  rose 
and  fell;  not  to  calm  music,  however.  The 
keen  intensity  of  his  gaze  was  piercing, 
and  none  would  hesitate  to  say  that  it 
could  penetrate  through  miles  of  night. 
But  where  or  what  was  he  looking  at — 
could  any  one  say? 

Then  he  told  his  wife  his  life-story — not 
the  first  time,  of  course — how  he  had 
dreamed  of  an  ideal  garden;  how  he  had 


70  1ROKA: 

been  trained  since  ten  years  of  age,  under 
Shyungaku,  Kosetsu,  Meisei,  and  others; 
how  he  had  learned  to  dwarf  trees  and 
"  hang  hypocrisy  over  bahy  cascades  "  (as 
he  called  it);  how  he  had  fled  into  the 
mountain  because  he  was  tired  of  such 
tricks;  how  he  had  met  a  hermit  there; 
and  how  the  prophet  of  the  mountain  had 
wedded  him  to  Nature.  Then  he,  with  a 
deal  of  emphasis,  told  her  how  he  had  met 
her  by  the  cascade  over  the  Kasuga  shrine; 
how  she  had  caused  him  to  fall  and  break 
the  vow  which  he  had  made  to  the  hermit 
never  to  love  aught  but  Nature;  how  he 
was  proud  of  his  fall — as  all  the  foolish 
would  have  said.  He  concluded: 

"The  garden  is  idealised  here,  within 
me — the  rocks,  streams,  plants,  and  site; 
and  it  shall  be  realised.  Look  here,  wife, 
as  long  as  genius  hides  in  this  breast  and 
my  heart  is  not  ashes,  the  day  must  come — 
yes,  it  must.  On  that  day  my  ancestors 
may  smile  on  me.  And  my  posterity  may 
bless  me  for  fortune  and  a  name." 

The  woman  listened  to  this  discourse, 
and  looked  in  much  the  same  way  as  flow- 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  71 

ers  do  when  the  sun  is  jovial  and  the  morn 
ing  sky  a  great  big  open  smile.  Then  she 
turned  her  beaming  face  full  upon  Kojiro. 
"And  if  you  succeed,  will  you  forsake 
me  ?  "  she  said.  Taking  her  in  his  arms, 
he  said,  "  What,  forsake  this  witch  ?  That 
can  never  be." 

The  slow  undulations  of  a  distant  bell 
went  around  the  low  eaves  of  the  cottage, 
and  the  sleepy  moon  reposed  quietly  on 
the  graceful  branch  of  the  kikyo  tree  in 
the  yard. 

Kojiro  came  home  in  the  evening,  as 
was  his  wont,  threw  out  a  handful  of  cop 
per  coins,  and  said  that  that  was  all  he 
could  make  that  day,  and,  "  Here  goes  an 
other  day!  "  His  little  wife  caressed  him 
tenderly  and  encouraged  him.  But,  poor 
thing!  she  herself  had  enough  to  do  to  dry 
her  own  tears.  Surely  they  were  at  the 
very  bottom  of  misfortune.  Why  does  not 
the  waned  moon  wax?  But  the  fact  is, 
Fortune  is  seldom  hitched  to  the  heel  of 
catastrophe.  She  is  a  little  too  proud, 
moreover,  to  sell  her  smiles  to  court  Sor- 


72  1ROKA: 

row.  Kojiro  sat  down  like  a  millstone. 
Heaven  help  him!  his  heart  was  heavy. 
He  did  not  care  a  whit  for  himself — 
six  years  of  hermit  life  had  served  him 
well — but  for  that  delicate  bud,  his 
wife! 

Osono  sat  at  the  opposite  side  of  the 
hibacTii  from  her  husband.  The  wreaths 
of  steam  rose  from  the  kettle — the  only 
light-hearted  thing  in  the  whole  room. 
Osono  watched  them.  "  How  well  they 
caricature  our  poverty — coming  out  and 
vanishing  away,"  thought  she.  Kojiro 
was  a  stone  image  all  the  while;  solemn — 
and  everybody  knows  nothing  is  so  much 
out  of  place  as  solemnity  in  a  rural  cot 
tage. 

Over  across  the  green  meadow  they  saw 
the  elder  of  the  village,  the  venerable 
shoya,  coming.  The  snow  of  sixty  winters 
weighed  his  frame  and  made  a  walking 
picture  of  humility  out  of  him.  His  hands 
were  clasped  behind  him,  and  he  was 
guided  and  followed,  almost  at  the  same 
time,  by  his  fat,  white  dog.  Osono  saw 
him  coming,  rose  from  her  seat  with  alac- 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  73 

rity,  and  covered  the  simple  supper  with 
what  seemed  like  a  piece  of  linen.  She 
went  to  the  closet,  took  out  a  cushion,  and, 
spreading  it  on  the  floor,  awaited  the  ap 
proaching  elder  with  the  best  holiday 
apparel  at  her  command — her  sunniest 
smiles.  After  the  tremendous  showers  of 
polite  Japanese  bows,  "  hais  "  and  "  heis," 
the  slwya  stated  in  his  official  manner  the 
mission  that  brought  him  there,  and,  after 
exchanging  compliments  in  the  most  ex 
travagant  style,  according  to  the  fashion 
of  the  day,  left  the  house  with  a  slight 
frown  upon  his  wrinkled  brow,  followed 
by  his  faithful  dog.  The  wife  raised  her 
eyes  with  a  tremour  on  her  lips.  Her  gaze 
met  that  of  her  husband. 

"  I  can't  understand  this,"  said  he, 
quietly. 

The  following  morning  the  sun  found 
the  gardener  dressed  in  his  cleanest  gar 
ments.  The  shoya  came  for  him,  and  they 
started  together  toward  the  capital  of  the 
empire. 

That  which  the  shoya  brought  to  their 


74  1ROKA: 

humble  house  the  day  before  was  a  sum 
mons  from  the  Lord  Chancellor  of  the 
palace. 

Fifty  miles  of  rocks,  dust,  and  moun 
tain!  At  best  a  serious  undertaking  in 
those  days,  and  what  was  left  of  Kojiro 
came,  as  the  twilight  was  feeling  her  way, 
staggering  back  tipsy-fashion,  under  pines 
and  cedars.  Fatigued  and  somewhat  pale, 
Osono  was  prepared  for  all  this,  but  there 
was  something  more  in  Kojiro's  expres 
sion.  And  when  she  asked  him  what  sad 
dened  him  so,  Kojiro  took  out  two  pack 
ages  of  gold,  and  said  that  they  were  the 
very  worms  that  were  gnawing  his  marrow. 
She  snatched  the  packages  off  the  ground 
and  said:  "What  do  you  mean,  my  dear 
husband?  What,  the  money!  What  a 
timely  shower!  Does  this  trouble  you? 
But,  my  husband,  where  did  you  get  it?  " 

The  gardener  folded  his  wife  in  his 
arms.  And  the  tenderness — ah,  don't  tell 
me  that  man  is  a  brute!  Many  failings  in 
his  heart,  doubtless,  but  a  big  slice  of  hea 
ven  also.  He  answered  the  awe-stricken, 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  75 

question-pregnant  eyes  of  his  pretty  young 
wife: 

"  Be  patient,  Sono,  and  listen  to  me. 
We  reached  the  palace,  and  as  we  pros 
trated  ourselves  the  Lord  Chancellor  en 
tered,  a  middle-aged  man.,  kindly  of  face 
and  fine-voiced.  He  asked  me  if  I  were 
the  peerless  gardener  of  the  empire  by  the 
name  of  Kojiro.  Fear  made  me  speechless, 
and  yet  somehow  I  answered  that  while  my 
name  was  indeed  Kojiro,  I  was  a  mere 
plantsman  and  very  far  from  being  any 
thing  like  a  superior  gardener,  and  that  it 
must  have  been  through  a  great  mistake 
that  I  had  been  thus  summoned  to  the 
palace  of  the  Mikado.  To  which  he  kindly 
answered  that  I  need  not  be  over-modest; 
that  his  majesty  had  already  learned  of  my 
genius.  '  Winds  that  blow  are  not  all  un 
kindly,  my  garden-maker/  he  said.  The 
emperor  was  quite  displeased,  so  he  told 
me,  to  find  that  turnips  and  radishes 
had  claimed  a  genius  of  such  rare  order 
so  long;  and  that  the  time  of  my  appear 
ance  was  ripe,  but  not  too  late.  The  pal 
ace  had  looked  upon  an  uncompleted  gar- 


76  1ROKA: 

den  on  the  south  side  for  three  genera 
tions.  '  The  resources  of  three  mountains, 
plants,  from  wheresoever  they  grow;  the 
force  of  a  thousand  select  masons  and  gar 
deners,  and  the  royal  treasury  are  all  at 
your  command.  The  reward  will  be  ac 
cording  to  the  merit  of  your  work.  No 
genius  ever  lacked  rank  or  wealth  in  the 
palace  of  the  emperor.  As  an  immediate 
relief,  accept  these  packages  with  my  com 
pliments!  '  Then  he  turned  to  the  shoya 
and  ordered  him  to  bring  me  to  the  palace 
on  the  first  of  the  next  month.  With  that 
we  were  dismissed  straightway." 

Osono's  eyes,  her  lips,  her  cheeks,  they 
were  as  clear  as  the  bubbles  of  a  sunlit  rill. 
The  little  speech  of  Kojiro  was  a  knell  to 
him;  but  to  her  a  gospel.  She  stormed, 
and  charmingly;  in  this,  man  never  can 
hope  to  imitate  woman.  To  suspend  her 
over  that  most  awful  of  chasms,  anxiety, 
and  scare  the  life  out  of  her  in  such  a 
merciless  way — why,  cruelty  is  no  word  for 
it!  Her  peroration  was  telling;  she  would 
nevermore  love  him,  she  said,  if  he  were 
to  behave  as  wretchedly  as  he  had  done 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  77 

again  (the  use  of  the  threat,  let  me  state 
by  way  of  comment,  is  becoming,  since  the 
day  of  Kojiro,  as  common  among  the  Jap 
anese  women  as  human  nature),  and  it  left 
him  as  utterly  helpless  as  a  butterfly  drunk 
with  the  dreams  of  flowers. 

If  the  flickering  pith-wick  of  the  seed- 
oil  lamp  had  an  ear,  there  is  no  telling  how 
many  secrets  it  might  have  heard  that 
night.  With  what  judicious  scrutiny 
Osono  close  questioned  Kojiro  about  the 
tear  (for  an  unfortunate  drop  became  over- 
emotional  and  dewed  the  cheek  of  Kojiro). 
But,  poor  Kojiro!  the  way  he  abused  him 
self  was  sinful.  He  cursed  his  doltishness, 
the  day  of  his  birth,  and  many  other 
things  without  the  slightest  show  of  mercy, 
but  never  to  his  satisfaction.  He  begged 
his  wife's  pardon.  It  was  a  black  lie,  so 
he  confessed;  all  that  he  had  told  her  that 
night  was  a  cursed  falsehood,  not  a  bit  of 
truth  in  the  whole  thing.  Oh,  of  course, 
what  he  had  said  of  the  little  training  he 
had  received  was  true,  but  he  was  a  com 
mon  plantsman,  nothing  more.  He  had 


78  IROKA: 

told  her  those  things  just  to  lighten  the 
despair-plagued  heart  of  his  young  wife, 
and  for  no  other  end.  The  trouble  came, 
he  frankly  admitted,  from  his  extravagant 
and  seriously  criminal  laudation  of  him 
self,  and  now,  as  the  matter  had  gone  so  far, 
he  wanted  her  to  do  what  she  pleased  with 
him.  "  Wife,  for  mercy's  sake,  fly  from 
me.  Leave  this  wretched  rascal,  leave  me 
and  fly  for  your  life;  look  here!  "  (Then 
the  strong  man  melted  somehow,  and 
clasped  his  hands  in  the  attitude  of  prayer; 
his  mother  had  taught  him  how  to  do  that 
when  he  was  two  years  of  age.) 

And  then  his  wife's  answer! — contradict 
ing  everything  he  had  said,  assuring  him 
that  Kameyama  was  not  the  only  place 
that  the  sun  shone  upon.  They  could 
escape  the  wrath  of  the  Mikado  as  easily 
as  they  had  that  of  their  parents,  if  he 
had  enough  daring  about  him. 

Woman,  it  is  said  of  you  that  you 
came  to  comfort  man;  is  it  to  deceive  him 
also? 

By  the  time  that  watchful  lamp  fainted 
in  the  night,  Kojiro  was  soothed  as  by 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  79 

magic.   Happy  dreams  and  glorious  visions 
hugged  him  about. 

Kioto  is  the  historic  capital  of  old 
Japan.  For  her  flowers  and  fair  women 
her  name  is  famous,  for  her  poets  and 
artists  also.  A  quaint  lover  of  the  old 
sepultured  himself  in  one  of  the  palace 
archives,  not  many  years  ago.  When  he 
came  out  he  said  that  he  had  found  a  curi 
ous  document.  Many  scholars  became  in 
terested  in  that  old  manuscript.  But,  as 
it  happens,  this  story  is  more  interested  in 
it  than  any  one  of  them.  "My  Life"  is  the 
title  of  the  volume.  The  name  of  the 
author  is  also  traceable  with  a  little  help 
of  the  imagination.  It  reads  "  Kojiro." 
The  record  is  full  of  exclamation  points 
and  very  few  periods.  That  is  because 
complete  sentences  are  not  many.  Here 
is  a  sample  page: 

"  July  2,  xiii.  of  Tempei. 

"  A  violent  knock  awoke  me.  'Osono!' 
I  cried.  I  looked  around.  Osono  was 
gone  and  the  gold  with  her.  A  man 


8o  1RQKA: 

kicked  open  the  door  and  came  in;  it  was 
the  slioya.  Only  one  path  was  open  to  me. 
I  leapt  to  the  ground,  seized  a  kama,  and 
attempted  hara-kiri.  In  the  name  of  the 
state  and  of  his  majesty.,  the  sJwya  ordered 
me  to  stop.  My  hands  were  palsied,  blood 
streamed  from  my  eyes,  every  particle  of 
strength  forsook  me;  in  that  bright  morn 
ing  all  was  night  with  me. 

"  The  shoya  exclaimed  at  the  top  of  his 
voice,  (  Look,  look,  look! '  Waking  from 
my  stupefaction,  I  looked,  and  saw  on  the 
paper  shade  of  the  lamp,  thinly  traced 
with  charcoal,  the  handwriting  of  my 
wife,  '  Good-by;  I  take  this  gold  as  the 
price  of  all  the  sufferings  you  have  caused 
me  since  we  ran  away  together.'  The  in 
scription  was  superfluous;  I  understood  all 
before  I  saw  it.  Sorrow,  disgrace,  soul- 
sickening  mortification,  death!  Ah,  how 
faint  a  shadow  of  the  utterable  real  do 
these  words  caricature!  I  prayed  that  I 
might  die;  but  there  I  was,  after  having 
suffered  ten  thousand  deaths  already.  No 
place  in  which  to  live,  no  means  to  take 
my  life. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  8 1 

"  I  had  sinned;  0  heavens,  but  thy  pun 
ishment!  Do  I  justly  deserve  all  this?  " 

The  shoya  took  charge  of  Kojiro,  im 
prisoned  him  in  his  godown,  and  placed 
three  strong  men  at  the  door.  The  old 
man  was  not  meddlesome  by  nature;  but 
he  appreciated  the  situation.  Meanwhile 
Kojiro  sat  in  the  dusk  (for  the  guards  had 
persuaded  the  sun  to  be  ashamed  of  this 
wretch  of  a  gardener).  He  was  a  perfect 
interrogation  point.  He  could  not  under 
stand.  Who  was  he?  An  insignificant 
plantsman  who  had  spun  his  life  thread  by 
stealing  the  light  of  day.  His  wife  had 
thrown  him  away  and  kept  her  old  shoes. 
How  came  it  that  this  man  should  be  se 
lected  out  of  so  many  of  his  professional 
brothers  to  wear  the  crown  of  royal  recog 
nition  and  bleed  under  the  thorn  of  irony? 

"Oh,  can't  you  help  me?"  he  cried, 
knocking  at  his  own  breast.  But  his  heart 
stood  still;  then,  affrighted,  it  bounded 
with  violent  throbs.  His  head  ached  in 
response  to  that  appeal  for  help.  Alas, 
and  alas!  the  tears  that  boiled  in  his  swol- 
6 


82  1ROKA: 

len  eyes  helped  little  to  enthrone  genius 
within  a  common  hand.  Oh,  for  that  power 
that  calls  forth  immortality  out  of  mortal 
ity,  a  god  out  of  man!  What  could  be 
done?  Through  whose  lips  could  he  send 
in  his  resignation  to  this  gracious  call  from 
the  sovereign?  That  body  of  his,  scarce 
five  feet  seven,  was  there  no  place  in  this 
wide  world  to  put  it?  Was  Osono  the  rust 
that  ate  up  the  steel  of  his  manhood?  She 
was  hateful,  yes,  but  far  more  contempt 
ible  than  she  was  he  himself.  Dark,  dark! 
But  Eemorse  felt  that  it  might  be  made 
still  darker;  so  she  flooded  it  with  the  ink 
which  some  of  the  angels  had  used  to  write 
a  very  black  record.  And  the  thought, 
"  Had  I  been  true  to  my  vows,  faithful  to 
the  hermit?"  flashed  lightning  over  his 
purgatory  and  left  it  darker  than  ever. 
"  Here  it  is,  my  life.  Take  it,  gods! 
take  it,  Buddhas,  and  ye  ghosts!  I  fling  it 
away  willingly.  No,  you  do  not  accept  it, 
this  cursed  black  pollution!  But,  oh,  pity 
me,  I  cannot  die.  I  cannot  pray;  you  have 
all  forsaken  me.  Have  I  not  suffered? 
Am  I  not  punished?  " 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  83 

The  groan  was  dismal;  but  the  tears  of 
blood  which  Eemorse  strained  from  him, 
and  the  crimson  stream  torn  with  his  own 
teeth  from  his  lips,  painted  in  a  more  sin 
ister  colour  the  hell  within  his  soul. 

For  a  couple  of  hours  he  was  a  ghastly 
being,  lying  on  the  floor  without  the 
slightest  sign  of  life.  But  life  wandered 
back.  It  was  always  night  in  the  godown, 
so  it  did  not  make  any  difference  whether 
the  day  waxed  or  waned.  But  just  at  that 
time  the  sun  was  dying  outside,  and  crea 
tion  was  falling  asleep  on  the  hill-tops. 
Kojiro  sat  still  till  the  temple  bells  tolled 
out  midnight;  then  it  was  that  a  voice 
woke  many  a  confidential  echo  from  the 
corners  of  the  godown.  Kojiro  was  think 
ing  in  a  whisper: 

"  Trying  to  murder  myself  because  a 
woman  deceived  me? — and  I  call  myself 
a  man?  Die?  Why  not  die  in  the  effort 
of  realising  the  garden?  Try — try — try! 
My  best,  that's  nothing,  I  know;  the  best 
a  man  can  do  is  not  much.  But — but — 
but — if  indeed  I  realise  the  garden  of  my 


84  IROKA: 

dreams,  no  one  will  think  it  a  garden  at 
all.  It  may  be  monstrous,  outrageously 
common,  in  other  eyes.  No  matter. 
Surely  some  chisel  must  have  cut  the  val 
ley  of  Katsura  gawa,  the  rocks  of  Atago 
Mountain.  True,  they  do  not  bear  the 
names  of  men.  But  man!  why  cannot  he 
walk  in  the  footsteps  of  a  god?  Cannot 
the  finite  ever  leap  the  barrier?  At  least 
I  would  find  this  out,  yes,  before  I  die!  " 

Something  brought  lightning  to  his 
eyes. 

With  the  morning  came  the  slwya.  He 
unlocked  the  door  and  asked  Ivojiro  to 
step  into  the  kago  standing  ready  outside. 
They  started,  and  at  the  end  of  their  jour 
ney  the  gates  of  Nara  palace  stood  open- 
armed. 

One  thousand  picked  workmen,  when 
they  form  a  single  machine  controlled  by 
a  single  brain,  work  out  a  wonder.  Ko- 
jiro  gathered  many  unnamable  things. 
"  Great  heavens!  "  was  all  the  slwya  could 
say  when  he  inspected  them,  and  the  Lord 
Chancellor's  " Kore  wa  shitari! "  meant 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  85 

the  same  thing.  This  done,  the  gardener 
walled  up  the  site  so  that  no  eyes  could 
peep  in  or  look  over;  and  as  for  the  birds, 
they  tell  no  secrets.  The  thousand  men 
worked  for  about  two  months;  then  seven 
hundred  and  twenty-three  of  the  number 
came  out.  No  one  knew  why.  And  the 
only  thing  they  said  was  that  they  could 
not  take  a  certain  oath.  At  the  end  of  an 
other  month  a  hundred  and  fifty-one  more 
men  were  ejected.  Fifty-three  men  be 
sides  Kojiro  remained  within  the  wall  at 
the  close  of  the  year. 

The  summer  passed;  the  autumn  grew 
ruddy  with  ripe  fruits,  and  dropped  them. 
And  every  morning  the  chorus  of  many 
voices  rose  and  echoed  back  and  forth 
among  the  stars  nickering  in  the  light  of 
dawn.  Winter  froze  the  playful  graces  of 
the  rills;  her  successor  pitched  her  tent  of 
purple  mists  in  the  melting  shades  of 
mountain  woods  and  along  the  laughing 
meadow  streams;  summer  taught  her 
winged  tribe  the  music  not  altogether  of 
earth;  the  moon  hung  pensive  in  the  au 
tumnal  skies;  and  all  these  blended  in  one 


86  1RQKA: 

circle,  exemplifying  Time's  relation  to  its 
mother,  Eternity;  and  yet  no  thoughtful 
bee  ever  freighted  its  wings  with  the  least 
bit  of  news  from  within  the  walls  of  the 
industrial  hermitage.  The  sky,  too,  was 
very  faithful,  and  no  mirage  ever  loomed 
up  to  satisfy  the  curious  of  earth.  Not 
even  the  Mikado  was  admitted.  Three 
years  passed  thus.  Meanwhile  all  the 
workmen  came  out,  and  Kojiro  was  left 
the  sole  sovereign  of  his  own  realm.  Three 
and  forty  of  his  men  had  been  carried  out 
to  be  placed  under  the  sod  and  the  stone. 

The  Lord  Chancellor  was  in  the  habit 
of  riding  round  the  palace  in  person.  One 
afternoon  his  advance  guard  arrested  a 
"  singular  thing  "  on  the  north  side  of  the 
walled  garden.  The  "  singular  thing  " 
looked  like  a  man,  but  more  like  a  beast. 
The  attendant  of  the  chancellor  cried, 
"  Down! "  as  he  led  the  thing  into  the 
presence  of  his  master.  But  it  stood  erect. 
Its  huge,  heavy,  tangled  mass  of  hair  mi 
micked  very  successfully  a  monsoon  in  a 
willow  forest.  The  daring  beard  filled  up 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  87 

the  holes  and  ditches  in  the  face  which 
pain,  anxiety,  and  intense  excitement  had 
dug,  and  clothed  the  breast,  otherwise 
naked.  A  ghost  of  a  garment  clung  to  the 
waist,  like  the  picture  of  a  faithful,  tender 
wife,  maltreated,  torn,  soiled,  despised. 
The  chancellor  met  the  eyes  of  the  savage 
for  full  ten  minutes  and,  "  How  now, 
Kojiro?" 

The  man  fell  down  upon  his  face. 

His  majesty  was  rather  patient,  for  a 
royal  person,  I  mean.  But  when  the  Lord 
Chancellor  reported  the  completion  of  the 
garden,  his  majesty  made  an  impression 
upon  his  minister.  In  after  days,  the 
minister  translated  the  impression  into 
words,  "  Just  like  a  fox  with  his  tail  on 
fire! » 

They  placed  the  marble  dais  off  the 
south  corridor  of  the  palace.  The  dais 
was  partly  within  the  wall  of  the  garden, 
crowning  its  terrace;  technically  speaking, 
it  was  at  the  station-point  of  the  perspec 
tive.  White  and  purple  draped  the  open 
ing  in  the  wall.  When  the  curtain  parted, 


88  1ROKA: 

Kojiro  was  seen  prostrated  upon  the 
marble  step.  A  prolonged,  vacant  stare! 
— his  majesty,  open-mouthed,  sprang  a 
step  or  two  forward,  his  hands  thrown  be 
hind  him,  his  brow  stormy.  Wonder  came 
and  wiped  away  all  traces  of  culture,  dig 
nity,  self-possession.  And  the  most  won 
derful  and  the  most  unaccountable  of  all 
was  that  the  chancellor  did  not  note  any 
change  in  the  royal  person.  Kemember, 
too,  that  never  before  had  a  smile  or  a 
frown  appeared  or  disappeared  on  the 
emperor's  face,  unnoted  by  the  minister. 
And,  what  is  more,  the  entire  court  ig 
nored  the  extraordinary  movements  of  its 
master — the  court  which  never  was  known 
to  miss  a  single  quiver  of  the  royal  lips,  a 
shade  in  the  royal  eyes.  What  was  the 
matter?  One  ample  cause  for  all  these 
things — the  garden! 

The  rocks!  as  common  a  thing  as  earth 
and  water,  why  should  they  enslave  the 
eyes  of  the  Son  of  Heaven?  His  majesty 
(and  the  whole  court,  for  that  matter) 
looked  long  at  them.  Did  they  really  see 
how  Kojiro  had  embraced,  caressed. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  89 

warmed,  wooed,,  slept  by  and  upon  them 
night  after  night,  I  wonder?  As  for  the 
rocks,  they  appeared  natural,  and  unnatu 
ral  also.  To  ape  Nature  to  perfection  was 
but  a  phase  of  Kojiro's  ambition.  The 
perfect  expression  of  Nature  plus  Kojiro 
— nothing  more,  nothing  less,  was  the 
ideal  of  the  gardener.  The  result  was 
that  the  rocks  fought;  they  frowned  for 
midable  anathemas,  tessellated  patience, 
preached  faithfulness,  prophesied  eternity. 
No  flower,  not  even  a  tuft  of  ran,  not  one. 
Streams  encircled  the  garden,  but  they 
seemed  mad.  They  bit  the  rocks,  and 
their  teeth  flew  like  snow.  Their  laughter, 
like  the  fingers  of  a  fairy,  went  pecking 
over  the  lute  strings  of  the  human  heart. 
They  sobbed  too,  and  the  souls  of  the  be 
holders  hugged  that  sorrow  as  a  mother 
presses  her  babe.  And  the  dews  that 
beaded  the  eyelashes  of  the  emperor  were 
his  own  heart  made  liquid.  Dead  trees 
were  not  despised  there;  yes,  there  were 
a  number  of  them.  Icho,  ginnan,  cedar, 
pine,  oak,  hugged  each  other  in  shocking 
promiscuousness.  The  gardener  had  failed 


90  IROKA: 

to  civilise  their  savage  passions  with  a  les 
son  in  modesty;  a  patch  of  an  African 
jungle  was  the  result.  Yes,,  it  was  that, 
but  it  was  also  the  condensed  essence  of 
suggestion.  A  magic  touch  of  perspec- 
tography,  and  his  majesty,  the  great  Ten 
Shi,  was  the  fool  of  an  illusion.  The 
garden  hurled  him  into  a  cyclone  of 
dreams.  His  soul  tripped  over  the  paths 
whereupon  a  mountain  goat  would  never 
risk  his  hoofs,  and  wandered  lost  amid  the 
steeps  of  the  Kiso  and  the  Ransan  ranges. 

At  the  royal  feet  was  Kojiro,  prostrated. 
Slight  tremours  passed  over  him;  but  none 
regarded  him. 

His  majesty  snatched  the  purple  robe 
from  the  hands  of  his  retainers.  That  was 
the  first  thing  he  did  after  waking  from 
his  trance. 

"Rise,  Kojiro!"  exclaimed  the  royal 
voice. 

No  response. 

"  Rise;  receive  the  favour  of  thy  em 
peror!  "  The  royal  hands  held  out  the 
robe  of  rank  to  the  gardener,  an  unheard 
of  honour. 


TALES    OF    JAPAN  91 

But  no  response. 

The  chancellor  lifted  up  the  prostrate 
man.  The  warmth  of  life  was  fast  passing 
from  the  frame  of  Kojiro  into  the  marble 
step. 


Aboard  the  "  Akagi 


Aboard  the  "  Akagi  " 

A  Story  of  the  Battle  of  the  Yellow 
Sea 


Ordinarily,  a  man  with  an  average  por 
tion  of  common  sense,  blessed  with  a  fair 
amount  of  healthy  uncertainty  in  the  mat 
ters  beyond  the  grave,  and  the  sunny  sun 
above  him,  and  a  good  digestion  within 
him,  is  not  likely  to  court  death  as  he 
would  his  sweetheart. 
But  then- 
There  are  occasions;  there  are  differ 
ences  in  the  natures  of  men. 

The  "  Akagi  "  was  a  baby  of  a  Japanese 
gunboat  of  615  tonnage.  The  "lamest 
duck  "  in  the  Chinese  ranks  was  more  than 
twice  her  size.  As  for  the  two  largest 


96  IROKA: 

ironclads  under  the  yellow  dragon  flags, 
they  were  each  7,430  in  tonnage. 

Vice-Admiral  Ito,  the  commander-in- 
chief  of  the  Japanese  squadrons,  was  very 
much  of  a  mother  in  some  things.  And 
his  heart  toward  the  "  lame  ducks  "  in  his 
fleet  was  womanly.  And  then,  here  is  his 
motto: 

"  Annihilate  the  Chinese  without  the 
loss  of  one  of  your  own!  " 

And  his  first  care,  in  the  plan  of  the 
battle,  was  to  tuck  away  under  the  wings 
of  the  principal  squadron,  the  "  Akagi " 
and  also  the  "  Saikyo  Mam " — a  mer 
chantman  hastily  created  into  an  armed 
transport,  with  four  quick-firers. 

So  to  the  port  of  the  squadron  they 
went. 

On  the  port  quarter  of  the  "  Akagi " 
there  stood  two  cadets.  They  were  losing 
their  souls  through  their  eyes. 

"  Zannen!  What  a  tax  on  our  love- 
country-heart!  " 

"Jitsuni!  In  truth,  it's  past  endur 
ance!  " 

They  looked  on. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  97 

"  There — look,  look  there! — look  yon 
der!  » 

Then  a  perfect  weed-growth  of  gestures 
sprouted.  Also  there  was  a  stormy  bil 
lowing  of  their  eyebrows,  great  craning  of 
their  necks,  rounding  of  eyes  and  mouths 
as  well — an  impatient  sigh  or  two! 

A  moment.  And  very  suddenly:  "  Ban 
zai!  Mhon  Navy  banzai! " 

Just  then  the  flying  squadron  was  flank 
ing  the  Chinese  right  wing.  What  a  revela 
tion  for  the  gods  they  were,  the  starboard 
broadsides  of  the  vessels  of  the  squadron 
—the  "  Yoshino,"  the  «  Takachiho,"  the 
"  Akitsushima,"  the  "  Naniwa  "  !  It  did, 
in  all  truth,  look  as  if  some  one  had  pulled 
up  Asama,  Vesuvius,  and  a  couple  more  by 
the  roots,  had  set  them  afloat  on  their  sides, 
so  that  their  craters  shot  at  the  horizon 
instead  of  the  midday  sun,  and  made  them 
fly  at  the  rate  of  fourteen  knots  an  hour. 

"  Look,  look!  "  and  the  finger  of  a  cadet 
was  pointed  at  the  hapless  "  Yang- Wei," 
the  outermost  vessel  of  the  Chinese  right. 
And,  to  tell  the  truth  for  once  in  a  narra 
tive  of  excitement,  such  as  war,  there  was 
7 


98  IROKA: 

a  big  enough  load  of  smoke  aboard  her  to 
smother  all  the  Klondike  mosquitoes  to 
death. 

She  was  on  fire  and — doomed! 

The  cadets  on  board  the  "  Akagi "  were 
by  no  means  divine — especially  in  the  mat 
ter  of  patience.  They  were  ruled  out  of 
the  stage  of  action;  and  the  sight  before 
their  eyes  was  calculated  to  disturb  the 
coolness  of  a  god.  Unless  you  were  there, 
you  could  hardly  know  how  much  of  pa 
triotism  and  self-control  is  required  to 
behave  correctly  under  such  strain. 

And  yet,  how  unreasonable  they  were  to 
complain! 

Whoever  thought  of  such  a  thing  as  to 
whip  a  mouse  into  a  melee  of  elephants,  if 
one  cared  anything  for  the  well-being  of 
the  mouse? 


II 


A  moment  on  a  battlefield  is  a  turn  of  a 
kaleidoscope.  And,  as  a  matter  of  fact, 
a  few  moments  did  bring  a  wonderful 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  99 

change  in  the  fortunes  of  the  war  on  that 
autumn  day,  especially  as  far  as  the  "  Ak- 
agi "  was  concerned. 

The  faster  vessels  of  the  principal 
squadron  steamed  ahead.  And  in  the 
spirited  race  they  little  remembered  the 
slower-footed  brethren  among  them. 
Naturally,  they  dragged  behind. 

The  "  Akagi "  was  the  slowest  as  well  as 
the  smallest. 

And  now  she  was  exposed  to  the  full 
fury  of  the  battle.  It  was  as  if  Fortune 
said  to  her:  "  Show  us  now  what  you  can 
do!  "  And  the  men  aboard  the  "  Akagi," 
silent  and  intent  at  the  guns,  could  not 
help  boiling  all  over  with  a  wild  paroxysm 
of  delight  in  their  heart  of  hearts. 

The  pious  would  have  said  that  it  was 
heaven's  own  hand  that  gave  to  her  this 
opportunity  thrown,  so  to  speak,  right  into 
her  lap.  Did  you  ever  know  luck  so 
happy?  The  unexpectedness  of  it  made 
the  exultation  the  keener. 


ioo  IRQKA: 


III 


"Berabo!  The  sons  of  Yamato,  right 
ye  are!  Let  the  men  of  the  land  of  Central 
Bloom  see  what  make  of  men  the  sun- 
round  flag  waves  over!  Banzai!  The 
'  Hiyei '  banzai!  " 

The  "  Hiyei  "  had  just  ported  her  helm. 

What  does  her  commander  mean?  Does 
he  not  know  that  it  will  throw  his  old 
ship  smash  into  the  embrace  of  the  huge 
ironclads  at  the  Chinese  centre  ?  Well,  he 
knew  that  better  than  any  other  man,  per 
haps,  since  that  was  the  very  thing  he 
aimed  to  do.  It  will  never  do  to  say  of 
him:  "There  was  method  in  his  madness;" 
because  that  action  which  scared  very  dar 
ing  into  cowardice,  was  the  result  of  a  sys 
tematic  and  cool  judgment,  and  the  keen 
insight  into  the  situation  and  the  prompt 
ness  of  action.  That  was  the  only  way — 
daring  as  it  was — of  saving  the  ship.  If 
he  tried  to  follow  in  the  wake  of  the  prin 
cipal  squadron,  he  would  be  forced  to  re- 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  101 

ceive  the  fire  of  the  two  ironclads,  the 
"  Ting- Yuen/'  the  Chinese  flagship,  and 
the  "  Chen- Yuen/'  her  sister  vessel,  and 
also  all  of  the  Chinese  right  wing.  And, 
after  all  the  risk,  he  was  sure  that  he  would 
not  be  able  to  keep  up  with  the  rest  of  the 
squadron  because  of  the  ship's  slow  speed. 
He  would  pierce  the  hostile  line,  take  the 
short  cut,  and  meet  the  principal  squadron 
on  the  other  side! 

"  This  was  splendidly  done!  "  comments 
Philo  McGiffin,  an  ex- American  naval  of 
ficer  and  the  commander  of  the  "  Chen- 
Yuen." 

The  waters  all  about  the  "  Hiyei "  rose 
in  a  thousand  fountains  and  clapped  their 
hands  and  applauded  her.  And  no  won 
der!  History  cannot  give  you  too  many 
cases  where  an  old-style  ship  of  2,200  ton 
nage,  with  only  three  17-centimetre  and 
six  15-centimetre  Krupp  guns,  engaging 
two  ironclads  of  7,430  tonnage  each  and 
armed  each  with  four  30J-centimetre 
Krupp,  two  15-centimetre,  and  twelve 
machine  guns.  And  that,  too,  at  the 
close  range  of  500  metres. 


102  1ROKA: 


IV 


They  say  "  the  sailor's  heart  is  big 
enough  to  love  them  all ! "  Meaning  by 
"  all/'  the  pretty  women  he  meets. 

There  was  a  cadet  to  whom  this  did  not 
apply. 

The  imperial  declaration  of  war  was  is 
sued  on  the  1st  of  August,  1894.  Four 
months  before  that,  when  the  war  was  a 
certainty  in  the  minds  of  a  certain  military 
circle,  although  the  exoteric  commoners 
but  vaguely  suspected  it — in  a  poesy- 
embalmed  corner  of  the  old  Capital  of 
Flowers — call  it  Kioto,  if  you  like — in  a 
garden  which  one  should  never  dare  de 
scribe  in  black  and  white,  nor,  indeed,  in 
any  colours,  there  were  two  young  people. 
The  moon  was  lighting  them,  and  so  also 
the  distant,  star-like  glimmer  of  lanterns 
held  up  by  the  twilight-sleeved  arms  of 
pine  and  cherry  trees. 

One  of  the  young  people  was  in  the  uni 
form  of  a  cadet  and  the  other  was  a  girl — 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  103 

beautiful  enough,  indeed,  she  was,  even  in 
that  all-obliterating  night,  to  make  the 
moon  turn  pale  with  jealousy. 

What  were  they  doing?  You  know  that. 
What  were  they  talking  about?  But  how 
can  I  tell?  They  were  not  in  the  shout 
ing  mood  evidently,  and  the  Japanese 
sentiment  abhors  loudness  of  demonstra 
tion.  And  then,  too,  the  most  of  their 
talking  was  done  in  perfect  silence.  I  am 
not  speaking  in  riddles;  all  lovers  under 
stand  me. 

As  Masamitsu  rose  to  depart,  he  took  her 
hand.  They  could  not  see  the  expression 
of  each  other's  eyes,  for  the  moon  entered 
into  the  dewdrops  which  their  eyelashes 
were  piercing  and  spent  all  her  glory  in 
turning  them  into  gems  and  gave  only 
shadows  to  their  eyes.  But  if  the  lips,  the 
eyes,  the  colour  of  their  cheeks  refused  to 
speak  the  unutterable  in  the  hearts  of  the 
lovers,  why,  something  else  must  tell  it. 

And  so  their  hands  were  together,  their 
fingers  were  woven  more  tenderly  than 
ever  the  tendrils  of  morning-glories. 

A  perfect  silence!     It  might  be  because 


104  1ROKA: 

he  had  too  much  to  say — she  also,  for  the 
matter  of  that.  No,  he  could  not  say, 
"  Good-by! " 

He  moved  a  little,  and  she  broke  the 
silence; 

"  Ar£  moshi;  will  you  not  be  here  to 
morrow?  At  least  a  few  days  longer,  I 
pray  you?  " 

How  the  western  lovers  would  have 
thrown  themselves  into  each  other's  arms! 
But  the  Japanese  lovers  are  a  cultured  set. 

Something  scared  sleep  off  Shizuka's 
pillow  that  night. 

One  who  saw  a  young  man  tottering 
along  the  night-silenced  streets,  strangely 
intoxicated  with  something  more  potent 
than  liquor,  advertising  himself  to  the 
stars  as  a  puppet  of  violent  emotions, 
might  have  looked  upon  his  cadet  uni 
form  and  felt  outraged.  Whoever  thought 
of  such  a  thing? — a  cadet  of  the  Imperial 
Japanese  navy  carrying  himself  so  bone- 
lessly,  in  such  a  jelly-fish  fashion! 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  105 


When  the  night  had  left  Shizuka  alone 
with  her  thoughts  and  a  troubled  pillow, 
the  darkness  and  her  God  heard  her  say: 
"  What  a  sinner  I  am!  What  a  miserable, 
cowardly,  accursed  traitor!  But,  oh,  how 
can  I — how  can  I  do  it?  Weak  and 
wicked?  yes,  I  know  that.  Oh,  help  me, 
help  me,  oh  ye  gods!  " 

A  few  drops  gathered  on  her  eyelashes; 
they  rolled  silently  down  her  cheeks,  and 
her  pillow  received  them  sadly  enough. 

What  could  be  the  matter  with  her? 

Her  mother,  a  few  days  ago,  half  jok 
ingly,  half  seriously,  had  said  to  her:  "  If 
Masamitsu  were  to  fall  in  the  battle?  " 

Triumph  was  in  her  eyes  when  she  re 
plied:  "How  joyously  would  I  thank  the 
gods! " 

She  did  not  want  to  keep  him  back — 
that  was  not  it.  Oh  no!  She  was  the 
daughter  of  a  samurai. 

The  State  before  everything;  loyalty,  the 


106  1ROKA: 

virtue  of  virtues;  for  Nihon's  honour,  for 
the  lustre  of  the  Hino-Maru  flag,  all  was 
to  be  laid  on  the  altar — one's  possession, 
happiness,  family,  his  children,  his  love, 
his  all!  Such  was  the  supreme  code  of 
the  Mhon  Samurai. 

Masamitsu  was  to  go  on  the  very  next 
day.  And  she  said  to  him,  "  At  least  a 
few  days  longer! "  And  well  did  she 
know  that  he  would  be  by  her  side  on  the 
sinking  of  the  sun  that  day.  She  had 
tried  to  show  him  how  heroically  she  could 
bear  everything  for  her  country — for  him! 
And  she  had  seen  that  every  effort  of  hers 
made  him  softer,  tenderer,  more  reluctant. 
Would  her  image  make  a  coward  of  him 
when  the  cannons  hailed  each  other  and 
the  decks  were  painted  red?  Did  she  have 
no  more  confidence  in  her  lover?  She 
censured  herself,  and  yet 

There  he  was  before  her,  becoming 
under  her  very  eyes  more  and  more  a  lover 
and  less  and  less  a  patriot.  What  could 
she  do?  Why  not  send  him  away  at  once? 
But  how  could  she  be  sure  that  he  would 
not  leave  his  soul  behind  him — with  her; 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  107 

and  disgrace  himself,,  his  family,  his  coun 
try?  Deaths!  tens  and  thousands  of  them 
rather  than  to  see  her  lover  blacken  his 
honour  or  soil  the  flag — the  flag  dearer  far 
to  her  than  her  life,  aye,  than  her  father's, 
mother's,  her  lover's  life! 

There  was  a  plan  in  her  mind  as  she 
wept  silently  that  night  with  the  stars 
which  were  watering  her  flowers  outside 
with  their  tears — the  flowers  which  he  had 
caressed.  That  plan,  if  she  were  brave 
enough  to  carry  it  out,  would  settle  the 
whole  thing  right.  She  could  not  doubt 
that. 

"Yes,  I  will  do  it— I  will!  May  the 
gods  and  Buddha  help  me!  How  cow 
ardly  I  am,  and  what  a  base,  weak 
woman! "  she  murmured  and  wept. 

The  few  days  glided  past  like  a  dream. 
And  at  last  Masamitsu  was  there  for  the 
final  leave-taking. 

His  train  was  to  leave  very  early  the 
next  morning. 

Shizuka  rose  and  went  to  the  tokonoma 
— a  small  alcove  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
furnished  with  a  low  platform  whereupon 


108  1ROKA: 

sacred  things  were  kept,  and  which  indi 
cated  the  seat  of  honour.  There  were  a 
flower  pot  and  a  sword  rack  upon  the  plat 
form.  In  the  pot  was  a  pet  fuji  (wistaria 
chinensis) — one  of  those  miracles  of 
human  care  lavished  upon  a  plant.  The 
entire  city  of  Kioto  knew  of  it,  and  the  con 
noisseurs  valued  it  at  many  hundred  yen. 
On  the  rack  was  a  sword,  a  couple  of  feet 
in  length,  perhaps  not  that  long.  And 
once  upon  a  happier  day  of  Nihon  Samu 
rai,  a  prince-swordsmith  condensed  his 
long,  toilsome  life  of  thirty  years  into  that 
short  compass.  It  was  one  of  those  mas 
terpieces  which  have  in  it  more  of  soul 
than  steel,  a  treasure  handed  down  in 
the  family  through  generations,  and 
which  is  utterly  beyond  any  valuation  in 
money. 

Shizuka  rose,  beckoned  her  lover  with 
her  eyes,  and  they  approached  the  toko- 
noma. 

She  took  the  sword  off  the  rack. 

"  This  is  my  humble  parting  gift  to  you, 
if  you  would  condescend  to  make  me 
happy  by  accepting  it,"  she  said. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  109 

She  drew  it.  They  stood  side  by  side 
and  looked  at  it,  into  the  depth  of  its  sheen. 
It  looked  like  a  frozen  piece  of  a  deep,  deep 
heaven — clear  as  the  sea  of  Chinu,  stain 
less  as  Fuji-yama.  Phantoms  as  ethereal 
as  the  dreams  of  a  god  glided  into  it; 
dragons,  in  its  shimmering  light,  as 
vivid  as  imagination,  chased  each  other 
up  and  down  from  the  guard  to  the 
point. 

Shizuka  pointed  at  the  wistaria  in  the 
pot.  She  said: 

"  Do  you  know  how  I  love  that  flower?  " 

"  I  was  told/'  replied  Masamitsu,  "  that 
it  is  your  very  life." 

"  Truly  so  it  is  and  "  (cutting  its  stem  in 
two  with  the  sword)  "  here  it  is — take  it. 
It  is  for  you!  " 

He  was  silent.  His  hand,  stretched  out 
to  receive  it,  was  trembling;  his  head 
bowed. 

"  Take  the  sword  as  well." 

He  took  the  bare  sword. 

"Wait,  let  me  caress  it  before  it  goes 
with  my  knight  to  fight  the  battle  for  the 
land  of  the  gods." 


HO  IROKA: 

She  threw  her  long  sleeve  around  the 
blade.  Only  an  inch  or  two  at  the  point 
was  visible.  She  held  it  with  both  of  her 
hands  over  the  thick  covering  of  her 
sleeves. 

"  What  a  brave  thing  you  are,"  she  said, 
addressing  the  sword,  "  almost  as  brave  as 
my  Masamitsu! " 

A  pause. 

She  looked  at  it,  and  then  at  him. 
They  were  strangely  intent,  those  beauti 
ful  eyes  of  her's!  And  he,  who  saw  his  own 
image  reflected  in  their  depths,  was  thrilled 
to  the  very  marrow. 

"A — ah!"  It  was  hardly  a  scream; 
it  was  so  faint.  That  was  all  she  said  as 
she  sunk  down  to  the  floor. 

As  for  Masamitsu,  he  could  not  cry, 
shout,  speak — he  could  not  breathe. 

Quick  as  a  shock,  he  jerked  the  sword 
from  her.  But  it  was  too  late.  A  mouth 
was  opened  in  her  throat.  It  was  ruddier 
even  than  her  lips.  And  from  it  life  was 
stepping  out  in  a  red  stream. 

He  took  her  into  his  arms  and  struggled 
for  a  word.  It  would  not  come. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  \\\ 

She  said:  "  For  Ninon — yours  and  mine 
— fight,  fight!  With  you  always — 1  will 
stand  close  by  you — by  your  side — our  flag, 
uphold  it! " 

When  her  breath  failed  her,  she  smiled 
at  him. 


VI 


All  the  glory  of  the  red-letter  day,  Sep 
tember  17,  1894,  was  not  to  be  the  "  Hi- 
yei's  "  alone.  At  least  such  was  the  deter 
mination  of  the  "  Akagi." 

It  was  chaos  aboard  the  "  Hiyei  "  when 
she  came  out  triumphantly  through  the 
Chinese  line. 

At  1.55  P.  M.  the  "  Hiyei  "  signalled  her 
distress.  What  a  heaven-sent  opportunity 
for  the  "  Akagi "  I  That  is  to  say,  it  was 
the  finest  chance  for  the  "  Akagi "  to  die 
— gloriously  no  doubt.  And  the  "  Akagi  " 
steadied  her  bow  to  plough  through  the 
boiling,  thundering,  bursting  melee. 

The  "  Lai- Yuen/'  the  «  Chi- Yuen,"  and 
the  "  Kwan-Chia  "  on  both  sides  of  the 


112  IROKA: 

Chinese  ironclads  saw  that  the  daring  little 
adventurer  meant  to  follow  in  the  wake  of 
the  "  Hiyei."  And  the  combined  tonnage 
of  6,450  bore  down  against  "Akagi's" 
615,  and  the  fire  from  the  five  8J-inch 
guns,  seven  6-inch  guns,  four  5-inch,  and 
thirty  machine  guns  roared  against  the 
"Akagi's"  one  9J  and  four  5-inch  and 
six  machine  guns. 

All  was  hazy.  Smoke  and  spray  which 
shots  falling  short  pounded  up  into  the  air 
completely  blindfolded  the  "  Akagi."  The 
Chinese  were  amused.  The  dare-devil  will 
surely  lose  her  way  and  be  abducted  by  the 
sharks  to  the  cool  crystal  palace  of  Ryu- 
wo.  Meanwhile,  the  fire-eyed  broods  of 
perdition  came  to  tempt  her,  smashing 
into  her  hull  and  bursting  on  her  decks 
and  singing  and  hissing  in  her  upper 
works. 

And  crash! 

A  shell  smote  her  bridge. 

Cadet  Masamitsu  was  on  the  ladder 
mounting  up.  And  into  his  arms  fell  an 
officer's  body.  The  cadet  recognised  him 
by  the  uniform. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  113 

"Commander,  Commander  Sakamoto!  " 
he  called.  At  the  same  time  he  pulled  the 
upper  part  of  the  body  to  see  the  com 
mander's  face — to  see  whether  he  was 
fatally  hurt. 

As  he  did  so,  he  called  again: 

"  Commander,  are  you  seriously 
wounded?  Commander!" 

A  gush  of  blood  which  spattered  his  face 
and  breast  was  the  only  reply. 

A  shell  had  carried  the  commander's 
head  and  blown  it  into  smoke  and  a  heroic 
memory. 

The  cadet  went  upon  the  smoking 
bridge  with  what  was  left  of  Lieutenant- 
Commander  Sakamoto  in  his  arms. 

The  vessel  shivered  just  then — bang! 
crash!  The  mainmast  was  humbled  to  the 
deck,  and  the  three  men  on  the  military 
top  were  seen  in  midair  striking  a  ghostly 
pose  against  the  smoke.  The  national  en 
sign,  torn  already  with  many  a  shot,  flew 
down  into  the  sea.  In  truth,  that  was  the 
fall  of  a  sun! 

"  Uphold  the  flag! "  shouted  the  cadet. 
He  did  not  remember  then,  though,  that 
8 


114  IROKA: 

in  a  flower-scented  corner  of  Kioto,  scarce 
four  months  ago,  when  Shizuka  was  in  his 
arms  and — in  those  of  death — that  her  last 
request  had  closed  with  the  self-same  sen 
tence  which  he  had  shouted  into  the  ears 
of  the  desperate  "  Akagi." 

He  rushed  down  from  the  bridge;  cut 
his  way  across  the  paths  of  shots. 

There  were  two  men  there  already  with 
a  jury  mast.  He  climbed  after  them,  and 
with  his  own  hand  he  pulled  the  halyard. 
The  Hino-Maru  flag  again  waved  over  the 
"  Akagi." 

"Banzai!  Nippon  Banzai!  His  Maj 
esty  ten  thousand  years.  Mhon  navy 
ban " 

It  was  so  abrupt,  that  break  in  Masa- 
mitsu's  hurrah. 

He  was  seen  to  falter,  throw  himself  on 
the  jury  mast,  embrace  it  with  both  of  his 
arms. 

"What's  the  matter?" 

And  the  men  wondered. 

They  saw,  almost  through  the  centre  of 
his  back,  there  was  a  crimson  hole.  Blood 
was  starting  to  spurt  out  of  it.  He  wore 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  115 

a  white  coat  that  day.  The  red  round  hole 
in  his  back  on  the  white  background  of  his 
coat! 

And  so  he  dyed  with  his  own  blood 
another  national  flag! 


A  Japanese  Sword 


A  Japanese  Sword 

While  the  modern  Kameoka  was  still 
called  Kameyama,  Castle-town  —  about 
seventeen  years  before  the  revolution 
("  the  great  earthquake,"  as  we  call  it)  of 
1868 — a  duel  was  fought  to  the  east  of  the 
castle  gate.  The  'clan  had  two  masters  of 
the  sword,  and  it  had  always  been  a  topic 
of  discussion  among  the  samurai  as  to 
which  of  the  two  was  the  greater.  The 
victor  in  the  duel,  purely  out  of  respect 
for  the  memory  of  the  one  he  had  slain, 
and  not  at  all  from  shame  or  fear,  left  the 
clan.  The  vanquished  was  brought  home. 

A  young  woman,  delicate  and  of  noble 
birth,  received  her  husband's  remains. 
Some  clanswomen  saw  her  at  the  gate  of 
her  now  lonely  home,  and  never  could  for 
get  the  pale,  beautiful  girl-wife.  To-day, 
if  you  go  among  them,  those  women  will 


120  1RQKA: 

tell  you  all  about  it  as  vividly  as  they  have 
ever  done.  And,  what  is  more,  they  will 
tell  you  the  same  story  over  and  over 
again.  Don't  be  afraid — the  tale,  I  as 
sure  you,  will  not  bore  you. 

The  young  wife  was  proud,  they  say, 
and  when  she  thanked  the  friends  who 
brought  back  her  husband  (two  years  had 
scarcely  passed  since  they  had  been  mar 
ried,  remember)  mangled,  pallid,  bloody, 
there  was  no  tremour  in  her  voice,  and  her 
lips  were  as  firm  as  when  they  had  pressed 
the  bridal  cup  of  saM.  They  know  what 
it  costs  to  shut  up  all  the  anguish  within 
a  woman's  heart  and  put  on  a  calm  face, 
that  she  may  not  tear  other  hearts  along 
with  hers.  They  are  proud  of  this,  their 
sister,  and  I  promise  you  that  they  would 
have  done  likewise  under  the  same  circum 
stances. 

All  this  happened  to  Nobuwo's  mother, 
five  months  before  he  was  born. 

Ujigami,  the  guardian  deity  of  Kame- 
yama,  had  his  shrine  on  a  hillock  cloaked 
thick  with  oak,  about  two  hours'  walk 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  121 

from  the  town.  They  were  there,  sitting 
on  a  rock  by  a  stone  torii,  one  fine  morn 
ing  of  one  of  the  last  days  of  March — 
Nobuwo  and  his  mother.  There  she  told 
him  everything — his  father's  death  and 
all.  As  she  watched  him  (and  not  the 
slightest  expression  of  his  emotion  escaped 
her)  there  came  something  like  a  smile  on 
her  lips,  as  if  her  gratitude  to  the  gods 
made  her  happy, — ah !  she  had  an  excellent 
reason  to  thank  the  gods, — she  spied  the 
soul  of  the  child  through  his  parted  lips 
and  starting  eyes,  and  saw  that  it  was  that 
of  her  husband. 

She  led  him  by  the  hand  to  the  front  of 
the  shrine.  There  was  a  large  metal  mir 
ror  behind  the  open  work,  sending  back 
the  light  which  the  sun  gave  to  it.  His 
mother  told  him  how  the  mirror  reflected 
the  naked  soul  of  every  votary  who  prayed 
and  swore  there. 

The  young  Nobuwo  swore  after  his 
mother — falteringly;  for  he  could  scarcely 
pronounce  some  of  the  big  words  used  in 
the  oath.  Ah,  it  was  a  touching  sight, 
this  young  soul  calling  upon  the  gods  to 


122  1ROKA: 

witness,  as  he  swore,  that  he  would  never 
allow  the  same  heaven  to  cover  himself 
and  his  father's  foe!  His  mother,  by  his 
side,  was  in  tears  in  spite  of  herself.  But 
it  is  also  true  that  her  beautiful  face  was 
full  of  light.  One  could  hardly  find  a 
prouder  woman  than  she. 

At  her  deathbed  (when  Nobuwo  was 
fourteen)  she  made  him  renew  his  oath. 

"  With  reverence  receive,"  she  said,  and 
gave  him  a  sword  in  a  case  of  heavy  silk. 
The  samurai  call  their  swords  their 
et  souls."  The  sword  was  her  husband's 
soul.  She  had  never,  awake  or  asleep, 
parted  with  it. 

Young  Nobuwo  hugged  it  with  frenzy, 
speechless;  but  his  tears  slowly  rolled  from 
his  cheeks  down  to  his  mother's  face.  He 
was  bending  over  her.  The  light  faded 
slowly  out  of  her  eyes;  but  the  smile 
around  her  lips,  was  it  not  a  reflection 
of  the  torch  lighting  her  soul  into  the 
unknown? 

After  all,  after  all,  noble  mother,  death 
dares  not  lay  his  brutal  hands  on  you — 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  123 

on  you  his  touch  is  not  ugly.  So  the  boy 
felt. 

His  progress  in  fencing  and  sword  exer 
cises  was  pronounced  miraculous. 

"  Your  skill  is  superior  to  mine/'  said 
his  local  instructor  kindly,  "go  to  Yedo> 
and  seek  a  worthier  master." 

Nobuwo  was  in  his  master's  private 
chamber,  about  a  week  after  he  had  en 
tered  the  club  of  Hida  at  Yedo.  His  mas 
ter  gave  him  a  cup  of  sake  (for  which 
honour  his  fellows,  when  they  heard  of  it, 
gave  him  a  mental  cuff)  and  asked  him  to 
speak  freely  of  his  history.  And  Nobuwo 
found  it  pleasant  to  talk  about  himself. 

After  that  his  master  was  specially  par 
tial  to  him.  Of  course  his  fellows  were 
the  first  who  noticed  it;  but  he,  too,  was 
obliged  to  admit  it.  But  his  peers  had  an 
excuse  for  this. 

"  ShiJcataga  nei  ya — such  a  skilful  dis 
ciple  to  favour,  truly  is  it  not  reasonable 
for  the  master?  "  they  all  said. 

They  also  said,  "  We  cannot  say  how 
high  he  will  climb! " — behind  his  back. 


124  1ROKA: 

But  when  Nobuwo  was  within  ear-shot, 
they  bemoaned  the  decline  of  learning  and 
art  and  the  prevalence  of  the  brutal  exer 
cise,,  meaning  fencing. 

Hero  worship  is  a  strong  trait  of  every 
Japanese  young  man.  But  with  Nobuwo 
it  was  the  trait:  more  correctly  speaking, 
there  was  nothing  else  within  him.  About 
a  year  after  he  came  to  know  his  master, 
his  greatest  joy  would  have  been  to  have 
died  for  him.  But  had  he  forgot  his 
mother  and  the  oath  he  swore  after  her? 
Not  at  all.  Every  night  he  had  a  regular 
love  scene  with  the  sword  of  his  father. 
But  how  could  he  die  for  his  master  and 
accomplish  his  life  aim  at  the  same  time? 
Nobuwo  had  never  thought  of  it  just  in 
that  light. 

There  is  a  well-beaten  road,  as  you  can 
see  in  your  history,  that  leads  from  Baby 
lon  to  Constantinople;  from  Korakorum  to 
Pekin;  from  Nara  to  Yedo.  And  the 
Shogun's  regime  marched  out  of  Yedo 
along  the  same  highway.  When  the  revo 
lution  of  1868  was  painting  the  streets  of 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  125 

Yedo  with  human  blood,  just  as  if  some 
one  printed  its  facsimile  map  in  red  ink, 
Nobuwo  was  seventeen.  He  was  with  his 
master,  Hida.  He  was  impatient — was  he 
not  old  enough  to  avenge  his  father  now? 
He  went  to  his  master  and  made  a  clean 
breast  of  the  affair  and  asked  his  advice. 

"Better  wait  till  you  are  twenty  years 
old,"  he  said,  with  his  usual  grave  tone; 
"then  I  will  be  your  assistant  sword." 

That  settled  the  question.  None  in  the 
empire,  wide  as  it  was,  stood  higher  than 
his  master.  With  his  help  he  was  sure  of 
success.  There  were  many  numskulls  who 
believed  that  his  master  was,  after  all,  a 
mere  mortal.  As  for  Nobuwo,  he  took  no 
stock  in  any  such  nonsense. 

Tamagawa,  the  river  of  jewels,  is  not 
false  to  its  name.  Many  an  unfortunate 
girl  made  a  mirror  of  it  and  sighed  out  a 
wish  that  its  purity  were  hers.  There,  at 
the  river,  the  soiled  souls  of  the  great  capi 
tal  used  to  gather.  Whether  they  have 
ever  succeeded  in  washing  their  stains  is 
not  on  record. 


126  IROKA: 

Hida  sat,  jelly-fish  fashion,  on  the  moss- 
covered  pebbles  under  the  shade  of  a  large 
oak  tree  on  its  bank.  The  river  whispered 
to  him  confidentially  and  sparkled  at  his 
feet.  Nobuwo  was  not  with  him.,  which 
was  rather  extraordinary.  What  was  the 
matter?  The  fencing  master  was  there, 
from  all  appearance,  sunning  the  inside  of 
his  soul,  and,  naturally,  he  cared  to  have 
no  one  save  the  ever-present  blue  overhead 
to  witness  him. 

"  Shall  I  tell  him  all?  I  will  tell  him 
all.  The  gods  know  that  I  love  the  boy." 
Such  was  his  thought.  But  something 
kept  him  from  going  any  further  in  his 
resolution.  And  yet  he  seemed  to  know 
that  he  must.  Have  you  ever  loved? 
Then  you  will  understand  him. 

"  Death  is  nothing  to  me,"  he  went  on 
in  his  thought.  But  there  was  a  confes 
sion  in  his  heart  at  the  same  time,  to  wit, 
it  was  sweet  to  that  strong  swordsman  to 
love  and  be  loved  by  the  young  boy.  He 
forgot  his  wife  and  his  children,  and  the 
boy  stood  in  his  mind  clearer  and  clearer, 
ever  growing. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  127 

"  Could  I  but  commit  kappuku  and  give 
my  head  to  him!  But  he  is  my  equal, 
perhaps  a  superior.  To  fall  under  the 
sword  of  a  peer  is  no  disgrace.  But  the 
world  knows  him  as  my  disciple.  What 
mud  would  it  fling  at  my  ancestral  name?" 

Ah!  that  was  a  heavy  blow  and  it  felled 
him.  To  retain  the  name  you  have  re 
ceived  from  your  father  and  hand  it  down 
to  your  children  in  its  snow  purity  and 
with  an  increase  of  halo,  is  a  great  thing 
with  a  Japanese  samurai.  Hida  recovered 
from  the  blow,  which  is  saying  a  great  deal 
more  than  you  can  safely  say  about  the 
courage  of  a  Bonaparte  or  of  him  who 
taketh  a  walled  city. 

"  Disgrace  or  no  disgrace,  the  boy  shall 
know  the  truth.  I  will  fall  at  his  hand." 
He  ended  his  reflection  with  the  half- 
uttered  prayer,  "  Oh,  eight  million  gods, 
grant  that  his  sword  may  be  too  powerful 
for  the  defence  mine  may  afford!  " 

Hida  celebrated  the  twentieth  birthday 
of  Nobuwo  at  his  house.  Many  noted 
swordsmen  of  the  city  were  there.  At  the 


128  IROKA: 

banquet  Hida  read  a  public  declaration  to 
the  effect  that  Nobuwo  should  be  his  suc 
cessor  in  case  he,  from  any  cause,  became 
unable  to  fill  his  duties  as  a  master.  The 
sword  dance,  the  tin-rin  ten-chan  of  the 
samisen,  the  singing  of  Chinese  poems,  the 
fan  dance  of  the  geisha,  helped  to  pass 
the  sake  cups  around  the  merry  circle. 

"  Steady,  my  boy!  "  Hida  was  saying  to 
Nobuwo,  by  the  solitary  off  house,  far  from 
the  noise  of  the  carousal,  under  the  mid 
night  stars.  "  Steady — yes,  it  is  true. 
Believe  me.  For  what  reason  would  I 
deceive  you?  " 

"  I  believe  not  even  a  word.  Oh,  mas 
ter,  how  can  such  things  be  possible?  " 

Truth,  the  whole  naked  truth,  was  told 
him. 

Within,  the  merry-making,  the  drink 
ing,  and  dancing  went  on  far  into  the 
night,  and  the  men  with  their  brains 
soaked  in  sake  met  the  dawn  coming 
down  the  Orient  hills  in  her  white  silk 
gown. 

But  Nobuwo  met  her  a  sober  man — in 


TALES    OF    JAPAN  129 

fact,  that  was  the  first  sober  moment  since 
he  was  born. 


Have  you  ever  heard  a  hair-stiffening 
ghost  story?  and  then  have  you  gone  into  a 
dark.,  dark  room?  Do  you  remember  how 
you  felt?  Did  you  want  to  rush  out  madly? 
And  then  at  the  same  time  did  you  not  try 
to  sit  down  where  you  stood  and  compose 
yourself?  Man's  soul  experiences  some 
thing  like  that  when  a  huge  octopus, 
otherwise  known  as  a  combination  of 
circumstances,  comes  along  and  makes 
a  spittoon  out  of  it. 

Nobuwo's  soul  was  in  the  dark.  The 
new  light  that  fell  upon  his  life  was  too 
strong  for  him,,  blinding,  scaling  his  eyes. 
He  did  not  know  what  to  do;  but  he 
wanted  to  know  how  to  act,  so  badly. 

His  father's  enemy  was  there  within 
his  grasp,  you  might  say.  His  oath  ap 
peared  before  him,  and  he  recognised  that 
that  was  the  only  kind  of  bread  his  spirit 
had  fed  upon  all  its  life. 

His  hero,  his  archangel!  he  was  also 
there  within  his  embrace.  And  the  gods 
9 


130  1ROKA: 

to  whom  he  had  bowed  night  and  morn 
ing  recalled  to  him  his  prayers  and  woke 
them  in  echoes  in  his  heart:  "  Grant,  oh, 
ye  gods,  that  one  day  I  may  tell  him 
(meaning  his  master)  how  grateful  I  am, 
by  giving  my  life  for  him." 

Many  others  before  him  had  torn  their 
hair,  but  never  as  he  did;  many  others  had 
had  their  hearts  broken  (for  this  has  been 
a  wretched  world  for  a  long  time),  but 
never  so  brutally,  so  helplessly. 

"Dark,  dark!  no  light?"  he  cried  over 
and  over  again. 

You  can  hardly  believe  that  a  young 
man  of  twenty  could  strike  a  chord  that  is 
truly  touching;  but  there  was  that  in  No- 
buwo's  cry  which  would  have  made  any 
miserable  wretch  happy — by  comparison, 
I  mean.  That  was  his  first  experience, 
and  it  went  hard  with  him.  He  acted 
like  a  silly,  crazy  baby,  in  good  faith, 
and  my  hero  awaits  the  first  stone  from 
one  of  you  who  have  had  a  similar  experi 
ence. 

He  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Light 
was  what  he  wanted. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  131 

He  was  in  that  old  dingy  room,  alone 
with  the  sword — three  days  after  the  great 
revelation.  He  was  gazing  at  it,  as  he  had 
done  every  night  when  all  else  went  into 
the  big  star-domed  temple  to  worship  in 
devout  silence.  As  he  looked  at  the  sword 
as  if  it  were  a  thing  of  great  depth,  he  re 
membered  how  his  mother  appeared  in  his 
dreams,  two  nights  in  succession.  She 
came  to  him  with  the  same  smile  with 
which  she  died;  stood  at  his  pillow  and 
pointed  to  the  sword  which  Nobuwo  was 
hugging  in  his  sleep.  She  did  not  speak. 

He  was  looking  at  the  sword,  because, 
as  I  have  said,  he  wanted  light,  and  be 
cause  he  did  not  know  where  else  he  could 
go  for  it.  He  was  sure  that  if  he  could 
but  read  the  handwriting  that  came  and 
went  there,  he  could  get  what  he  wanted. 
The  dull  lamp-light  fell  upon  the  stainless 
sword  in  stars,  and  at  every  turn  Nobuwo 
gave  to  it,  blood-tides  rushed  down  its 
sheen.  Mysteries  deepened,  increased. 
Light  never  came. 

But  he  must  have  light.  The  sword  was 
his  only  prophet.  Nothing  discouraged 


1^2  IROKA: 

him  therefore,,  and  he  repeated  the  same 
thing  over  and  over  every  night. 

When  Nobuwo  left  his  master  at  the 
birthday  celebration,  by  the  off  house,  he 
had  said:  "  Master,  give  me  one  month's 
leisure.  Then  I  shall  let  you  know." 

The  month  had  dwindled  into  a  day. 
He  was  as  much  at  sea  as  ever.  That 
night  he  went  to  his  oracle,  the  sword,  as 
usual.  The  message  must  come  or  else  he 
must  die. 

Die! — there  was  a  strong  flash  of  light 
on  the  blade.  The  flash  entered  Nobuwo's 
eyes.  He  breathed  as  if  he  had  just  come 
out  of  deep  water.  He  sheathed  the 
sword. 

The  following  morning  he  sent  his  mas 
ter  a  note: 

Condescend  to  wait  at  midnight  at  the  shrine  of 
Yoshida. 

The  note  found  his  master  ready.  Yo- 
shida's  shrine  was  half  way  between  Yedo 
and  Tamagawa,  and  was  a  favourite  spot 
for  the  revolutionary  patriots.  It  stood  on 
the  very  spot  where  that  famous  patriot- 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  133 

statesman  was  beheaded  by  the  She-gun's 
administration.  The  spear-shaped  cedars 
raised  a  queer  kind  of  battlement  about 
the  sacred  shrine.  Every  storm  that  comes 
along — so  it  is  said  and  believed — carries 
from  it  a  loud  complaint  against  heaven 
that  allowed  so  great  an  outrage  to  come 
to  pass.  It  was  weird  enough  about  the 
shrine  even  when  the  sun  was  mirthful  on 
the  leaves,  but  at  night  it  was,  as  well 
known  to  the  boys  of  the  neighbourhood, 
one  of  the  places  where  a  gypsy  would  not 
go  for  a  dime. 

Hida  lighted  his  lantern,  because  he 
could  not  proceed  any  farther  without  its 
help.  He  was  a  few  hundred  yards  from 
the  shrine  in  the  bosom  of  the  dense 
woods.  He  had  dressed  in  white,  as  all 
samurai  do  when  death  is  their  bride. 
When  he  arrived  there  it  was  a  trifle  be 
fore  midnight. 

"So  I  am  the  first  on  the  field/'  he 
thought. 

He  sat  at  the  foot  of  a  stone  light-stand 
and  waited.  An  hour  passed;  no  one 
came.  Two  hours  passed — still  he  was 


134  IROKA: 

alone.  Then  he  took  up  his  lantern  and 
went  round  the  shrine,  thinking.  He 
went  round  twice;  for  man  becomes  some 
what  absent-minded  sometimes.  One  of 
the  branches  of  a  cedar  tree  was  bent  over 
at  the  east  corner  of  the  shrine.  The  un 
certain  light  of  his  lantern  fell  upon  an 
object  which  looked  somewhat  like  a  small 
pile  of  snow. 

And  the  reason  that  made  Hida  stand 
stone-still,  tells  the  whole  story. 

A  letter  was  found  on  the  ground, 
but  as  Nobuwo  bowed  over  it,  right  after 
committing  hara-kiri,  it  was  stained 
badly. 

Hida  could  but  read  little  of  it,  but  it 
was  not  altogether  because  blood  obliter 
ated  the  writing.  I  doubt  very  seriously 
whether  any  one  of  you  can  finish  the  let 
ter.  Sugita,  one  of  the  closest  friends  of 
Hida,  a  famous  swordsman,  tried  to  read 
it,  and  said  that  it  made  a  woman  out  of 
him,  which  was  a  startling  confession  from 
that  man. 

Among  other  things  which  I  need  not 


TALES    OF    JAPAN  135 

repeat  here,  for  surely  there  is  no  merit 
in  making  my  readers  tearful,  there  were 
many  allusions  to  the  ethical  code  of  Con 
fucius.  The  letter  also  cited  many  his 
toric  examples  wherein  the  Buddhas  ap 
peared  on  the  scenes  of  leataki  uchi 
(enemy-slaying)  and  assisted  in  the  pious 
deeds  of  filial  sons  in  severing  the  heads 
of  their  enemies. 

The  letter  admitted  that  the  writer  was 
a  perjurer;  and,  above  all,  a  coward.  (Now 
cowardice  is  the  blackest  in  the  category 
of  crimes  known  to  a  Japanese  samurai.) 
A  coward,  Nobuwo  confessed ;  but  he 
added  that  he  was  willing  to  pay  that  price 
for  the  privilege  of  loving  Hida  and  that 
the  price  was  sweet. 

The  boy  was  a  total  stranger  to  Him 
who  said,  "  Love  your  enemies;  bless  them 
that  curse  you;  do  good  to  them  that  hate 
you." 

Had  he  but  known  Him! 

A  modest  tomb  marks  a  corner  of  the 
vast  Aoyama  cemetery  and  the  mosses  are 
already  gathering  around  the  name  of 


1^6      IROKA:   TALES    OF    JAPAN 

Ota  Nobuwo,  cut  in  the  stone.  And 
this  marks  the  spot  where  one  of  the 
noblest  families  of  Kameyama  returned  to 
dust. 


Hirata  Kojiro 


Hirata  Kojiro 

A  Story  of  Tokio  Society 


Hirata  Kojiro  is  a  "  society  man,"  and — 
although  it  sounds  contradictory — an  in 
teresting  talker,,  a  disillusioned  philoso 
pher,  and  altogether  a  very  peculiar  fel 
low,  inasmuch  as  he  is  one  of  the  very  few 
whom  knowledge  has  thoroughly  humili 
ated.  Hirata  Kojiro  at  the  Imperial  Uni 
versity  of  Tokio  led  his  class  in  the  de 
partment  of  literature.  Hirata  Kojiro 
knows  the  lady  who  uses  an  ancient  mono 
gram  on  a  corner  of  her  perfumed  note, 
and  who  is  a  great  dame — great  enough  to 
wink  at  a  Cabinet  Minister  or  the  young 
wearer  of  one  of  the  oldest  and  most  hon 
oured  crests  in  the  realm  and  turn  them 


140  IROKA: 

into  dummy  dolls.  He  knows  also  a  cer 
tain  beauty  whose  name  is  dyed  and 
worked  out  in  gold  in  front  of  a  certain 
house  in  a  corner  of  Yoshiwara.  And 
Yoshiwara  is  that  flower  path  of  Tokio 
which  is  responsible  for  a  great  deal  of  the 
romance.,  laughter,  suicides,  follies.,  and 
purgatory  of  Japan,  both  in  the  days  when 
the  Tokio  of  the  Ten-no  was  the  Yedo  of 
the  Shoguns  and  in  these  later  times,  too, 
when  we  have  learned  the  use  of  pistols. 

The  fact  that  brought  him  many  trials 
and  that  made  him  open  his  eyes  to  his 
true  life-mission — the  fact,  therefore,  that 
was  at  once  his  curse  and  salvation — was 
that  he  was  very  handsome.  He  was  born 
on  the  top  step  of  that  ladder  built  by  a 
humorous  god  and  called  "  social  stand 
ing;  "  and  he  had  much  money  and  more 
wit.  It  was  not  his  fault  that  all  these 
things  were  thrust  upon  him. 

For  at  least  twenty  years,  ever  since  he 
could  remember — for  he  was  twenty-six 
when  he  made  his  Pompeiian  entry  into 
Tokio  society — he  had  looked  upon  him 
self  in  the  glass  several  times  a  day.  But 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  141 

he  had  to  confess  that  he  had  never  seen 
himself  truly  till  not  less  than  two  hun 
dred  pairs  of  eyes — Poppaean,  1'Enclosian, 
and  otherwise — presented  him  with  a  con 
vex,  complex  mirror. 

His  face,  though  handsome,  was  at  the 
same  time  in  open  revolt  in  every  line  of 
its  features  with  the  conventional  idea. 
Although  you  could  not  see  the  beautiful 
images  that  were  hanging  in  the  interior 
of  his  high,  dome-like  forehead,  you  could 
guess  without  much  trouble  that  it  was 
filled  with  the  unrealised  masterpieces  of 
great  artists.  His  nose  was  straight  and 
slender,  and  in  the  quiverings  of  his  nos 
trils  you  could  see  many  captured  fairies 
beating  their  pink  wings.  His  mouth 
seemed  to  be  too  sensitive  to  have  a  set 
form:  when  closed,  at  its  corners  where  the 
lips  tie  themselves  in  modest  union,  you 
could  observe  a  touch  of  twilight.  It  was 
red,  warm  to  the  eye,  full  of  ripples  and 
storms,  just  like  a  sea — in  short,  a  mystery. 
He  seemed  to  have  enough  hair  for  two 
heads  of  passionate  women,  and  it  was  so 
black  that  an  Egyptian  night  was  white 


142  IROKA: 

beside  it.  But,  after  all,  women  and  peo 
ple  in  general  who  had  seen  him  did  not 
remember  these  features.  "What  they 
could  not  forget  were  his  eyes.  They  were 
much  too  large  to  suit  the  taste  of  the 
artists  of  the  Ukiyoye  school.  When  they 
opened  with  the  lifting  of  his  brows  they 
were  childlike,  innocent;  when  they  closed 
half  way  they  were  an  ecstatic  dream,  and 
when  they  looked  at  nothing  particularly 
and  were  lost,  as  it  were,  in  the  crowded 
drawing-room  of  the  gods,  they  were  Vedic 
hymns. 

Those  who  saw  him  at  social  functions 
felt  as  if  they  were  out  in  evening  dress  to 
watch  a  comet.  They  all  exclaimed:  "A 
brilliant  series  of  triumphs,"  and  a  strange 
chorus  of  envy,  disappointment,  indiffer 
ence,  savage  revolt,  melancholy,  and  what 
not  added,  "  Oh,  of  course!  " 

But  Hirata  did  not  see  the  thing  in  the 
same  light.  And  as  he  threw  his  silk  ki 
mono  or  swallowtail  coat,  as  the  case 
might  be,  into  the  gloomy  arms  of  the 
break  o?  day,  or  as  he  lay  in  his  bed  beg 
ging  Sleep  to  be  good-natured  to  his  tired 


TALES    OF    JAPAN  143 

heart  and  brain,  his  fancies  were  as  bitter 
as  those  of  the  Emperor  on  historic  St. 
Helena.  He  was  a  failure.  And  really 
you  could  not  blame  him,  seeing  that 
where  he  dug  for  diamonds  he  found  only 
dirt  and  vacuum.  So,  very  logically  to 
himself,  very  amazingly  to  others,  and 
"  abominably  absurdly  "  to  a  certain  num 
ber  of  titled  mothers  whose  daughters  were 
"  charming "  in  the  columns  of  society 
papers  and  on  the  lips  of  social  gatherings, 
after  seven  years  of  toil  and  humiliation 
he  disappeared  from  the  eyes  of  men  as 
completely  as  a  shooting  star.  Of  course 
he  was  crazy — nothing  short  of  that — as 
the  gossips  very  justly  said. 

Fuji-yama,  they  say,  rose  from  the 
Musashi  Plain  in  a  single  night.  And 
at  the  New  Year  celebration  three  years 
later  Hirata  as  suddenly  came  out  of  his 
hermitage. 

His  friends  did  not  know  what  it  all 
meant,  but  certainly  they  were  very  happy 
to  see  him. 

"  You  act  like  a  prophet,  you  conceited 


144  IROKA: 

rogue,  you!  No  Gotama,  no  Confucius 
though,  I  warrant,  but  a  Mahomet! "  was 
the  greeting  from  one  of  his  club  chums. 

To  a  few  of  his  most  intimate  fellows  he 
said:  "  I  am  as  bad  as  a  new  woman;  I  have 
a  mission,  this  time — a  very  serious  one. 
The  fact  is,  it  has  possessed  me  and  has 
forced  me  into  the  arena — I  am  a  mis 
sionary!  " 

At  which  many  whistles  were  heard; 
outbursts  of  cheers  and  laughter  followed, 
and  then  the  reinstalment  of  Hirata  on 
the  throne  of  King  Wit  and  the  invocation 
of  the  gods  to  witness. 


II 


The  consensus  of  the  comments  on  the 
marriage  of  Count  Yoshimori  was  that,  for 
the  first  time,  one  of  the  cleverest  men  of 
the  august  reign  of  Meiji  made  a  consum 
mate  masterpiece  of  an  ass  of  himself.  So 
much  so,  indeed,  that  some  of  the  gentle 
men  of  leisure  among  his  personal  friends 
took  pains  to  take  up  a  subscription  to 


TALES    OF  JAPAN  145 

build  him  a  decent  monument — respect 
able  by  the  side  of  the  Sphinx  on  the  Nile 
— atop  the  Kudan  Hill,  in  the  full  view  of 
the  capital,  just  as  soon  as  he  would  con 
fess  his  weakness.  The  reason  of  it  all 
was  this:  the  count,  a  man  of  the  world, 
went  back  to  his  ancestral  homestead  and 
married  a  girl  there  who  knew  vastly  more 
of  the  Blessed  Land  of  the  Lotus  than  of 
the  most  ordinary  fact  of  modern  society. 

The  metropolitan  ladies  were  very  con 
descending  to  the  bride,  "  poor  child! " 
But  that  maid,  with  the  scent  of  cedar 
and  clover  in  her  breath,  fresh  from  the 
modest  shades  of  primitive  simplicity,  had 
something,  somewhere  about  her — it  might 
have  been  in  her  dreamy  gaze  or  in  the 
languid  inclination  of  her  head,  like  a  lily 
heavy  with  dews,  they  could  not  tell — 
which  irritated  great  ladies  who  wished  to 
be  as  .omniscient  as  well  as  omnipotent  as 
the  gods,  and  were  succeeding  fairly  well. 

In  a  short  time  Tokio  society  did  the 

countess  the  honour  of  adding  another 

adjective  to  her  pet  appellation,  and  "  poor 

child!"  became   "poor,  strange  child!" 

10 


146  IROKA: 

With  all  the  sincerity  of  this  country-bred 
maid,  which  amused  the  capital  not  a 
little,  there  was  an  air  of  acting.  As  for 
her  personal  appearance,  that  was  the  one 
thing  which  afforded  an  excuse  for  her 
husband's  weakness  in  his  marriage.  You 
might  say  of  her  that  she  was  as  homely  as 
a  daisy.  But  she  was  such  a  daisy  that 
had  you  been  a  peony  in  a  king's  garden 
you  could  not  help  envying  her.  Some 
fairy  in  a  dreamy  mood  must  have  woven 
the  satin  of  her  skin,  which  had  the  lustre 
of  wet  silk.  The  eyes  of  men,  contemplat 
ing  her,  seemed  to  fall  ever  toward  her 
feet,  because  her  grace  seemed  as  if  she  was 
just  half  way  out  of  the  ethereal  world  of 
fancies  into  this  real  humdrum.  Her 
hands  and  arms,  escaping  from  the  cur 
tain-like  Japanese  sleeves,  were  a  pair  of 
pink  roses  blooming  on  the  perianth  of 
white  lilies.  The  oval  of  her  cheeks  was 
adorned  with  those  finger-marks  of  happi 
ness  called  dimples,  her  lips  were  a  temp 
tation,  and  her  eyes  seemed  always  looking 
for  a  lover  to  leap  from  the  golden  heart 
of  a  plum  blossom.  All  of  these  charms 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  147 

entered  into  an  ensemble  delightfully 
childlike  and  marvellously  resembling  a 
cherub  of  painters'  dreams. 

"  Mark  what  I  tell  you,  the  count  will 
have  trouble  on  his  hands  in  a  month," 
was  heard  in  a  corner  of  the  Tokio  Club. 

"  As  if  you  were  the  first  fellow  who 
plays  the  prophet  on  that  point!  "  was 
also  heard. 


Ill 


Countess  Yoshimori  was  a  daughter  of 
the  rigorous  ethics  of  elder  Japan.  "  A 
faithful  wife  never  sees  two  men,"  her 
mother  had  said  to  her,  and  she  remem 
bered  it.  But  what  would  you?  Tokio 
society  was  not  going  to  go  back  into  the 
picturesque  past  of  half  a  century  ago  just 
on  account  of  the  countess.  She  had  to 
see,  and  she  did  see,  many  another  man 
besides  her  husband — among  them  Hirata 
Kojiro. 

Marquis  lyeya  gave  a  ball  at  Rokumei 
Kwan.  In  a  corner  of  that  hall  of  fashion, 


148  1ROKA: 

where  pines,  palms,  and  not  a  few  flow 
ers  seemed  to  invite  Secrecy  to  swing  its 
nest,  Hirata  and  the  countess  held  con 
verse. 

Hirata — They  tell  me,  madam  (pointing 
to  his  heart),  there  is  a  vacuum  here. 

Countess  Yoshimori — Then  will  your 
heart  belong  to  a  fortunate  discoverer  by 
right  of  discovery?  If  she  succeed? 

Hirata — But  a  female  Nansen  is  a  rare 
possibility. 

Countess  Yosliimori — Then  it  is  at  best 
a  North  Pole. 

She  laughed  as  a  bird  might  laugh. 

What  she  had  thought  impossible  be 
came  not  only  possible,  probable,  but  ac 
tual;  what  she  had  laughed  at  became 
merry  at  her  expense.  She  had  all  the 
symptoms  of  a  violent  fever;  she  stared 
sometimes  at  a  blank  wall.  She  did  not 
know  that  before  her,  ladies  without  num 
ber  had  gone  through  the  same  Eed  Sea, 
taking  a  leap,  as  they  thought,  into  the 
promised  land  and  finding  themselves  in 
a  desert;  but  that  was  a  fact.  If  you  are 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  149 

reasonable  you  certainly  cannot  blame  the 
ladies — consider  Hirata!  It  is  like  put 
ting  the  sun  in  the  sky  and  blaming  the 
simple-hearted  idolaters  because  they  wor 
ship  it.  Hirata,  moreover,  had  never 
looked  so  handsome,  had  never  taken  so 
much  pains  with  his  toilette. 

"Has  sharp-witted  Count  Yoshimori  be 
come  blind  all  of  a  sudden?  "  the  capital 
asked,  behind  his  back,  in  a  whisper. 


IV 


The  distance  between  the  dizzy  height 
where  woman  makes  a  god  of  a  mortal 
man  and  becomes  overwhelmed  with  his 
charms,  and  that  abyss  into  which  she 
leaps,  and  which  is  called  the  conquest  of 
love,  is  but  a  step — with  some  women. 
With  the  countess  it  was  more  than  twice 
the  span  of  the  Pacific  Ocean.  In  the 
bower  of  her  youth,  where  society  deserted 
her,  books,  which  to  a  certain  type  of  in 
tellect  prove  a  better  teacher  than  experi 
ences,  and  certainly  of  much  wider  scope 


150  1ROKA: 

in  their  fields  of  tuition,  took  up  her 
education. 

When,  therefore,  she  saw  Hirata,  all  the 
possible  situations  which  fiction  and  his 
tory  could  invent  and  record  of  a  woman 
who  finds  that  her  heart  is  in  the  keeping 
of  another  than  her  husband,  seemed  to 
pass  in  panoramas  before  her.  She  raised 
her  white,  slender  hand  to  give  battle  to 
the  whole  world,  its  petrified  institutions, 
its  modes  of  thoughts  older  than  history, 
its  graveyards  and  its  gods. 

She  began,  as  so  many  do,  by  shunning 
Hirata,  which  was  at  once  the  confession 
of  her  partiality  for  him  and  her  mistrust 
in  her  own  defense.  Compared  to  Hirata, 
Napoleon  had  no  confidence  in  his  powers 
to  charm  victory.  And  that  overwhelm 
ing  ease  with  which  he  trod  the  path  to 
conquest — sure  of  it  as  a  god — gave  him 
a  grace  beyond  all  dreams. 

On  her  part  pride  was  summoned:  "  At 
best  he  would  despise  me,"  she  sighed  to 
herself,  stopping  in  the  midst  of  her 
absent-minded  toilette.  Then  she  weak 
ened  to  the  extent  that  she  had  to  call  the 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  151 

ethical  elements — fidelity  to  her  husband 
and  the  virtue  of  woman — to  her  assist 
ance.  Finding  her  love  rejoicing  at  every 
obstacle  she  could  raise  in  its  course,  she 
blamed  her  fate. 

Half  a  year  of  her  acquaintance  with 
Hirata  passed,  and  already  there  were  mo 
ments  in  her  life  when,  in  her  philosophy, 
she  turned  fatalist.  As  for  all  the  mis 
fortunes  that  might  accompany  her  adven 
ture — that  desert  stretch  of  her  life  of 
"  shame,"  as  the  world  calls  it — these  all 
beckoned  her  with  a  gesture  as  captivating 
as  the  delirium  of  ecstatic  love.  She  was 
very  cautious,  with  all  that.  The  tests  she 
applied  to  Hirata  were  miracles  of  inge 
nuity;  and  step  by  step,  degree  by  degree, 
she  made  them  stricter  and  harder  to  bear. 
And  at  last,  seeing  him  pass  through  them 
like  a  piece  of  steel  in  the  hand  of  a  sword- 
smith,  becoming  purer  and  truer,  she 
looked  up  to  heaven  and  informed  the 
immortals: 

"  He  is  my  god!  » 

By  "  he  "  she  meant  Hirata. 


152  IROKA: 

"  Here  is  a  tribute  to  your  charms,  ma 
dam,"  her  husband  said  to  her,  and  gave 
her  a  note  to  read.  It  was  addressed  to 
her  husband — an  anonymous  note,  warn 
ing  him  against  his  wife.  When  she 
looked  up  to  him  from  the  paper  he  said: 

"  How  ridiculous!  How  perfectly  ab 
surd!  .  .  .  Ha!  ha!  ha! "  There  was 
such  a  ring  of  sincerity  in  his  merry 
laughter. 

In  fact,  no  longer  able  to  resist,  the 
countess  outraged  gossip.  Of  course,  she 
looked  upon  her  love  as  purely  intellectual, 
spiritual — she  would  have  died  before 
staining  it  with  a  grosser  element.  But 
to  be  a  constant  companion  of  a  god  such 
as  Hirata!  She  had  surrendered  her  heart 
completely.  Her  husband,  one  of  the 
shrewdest  wits  of  the  capital,  was  mag 
nanimity  made  blind.  Instead  of  being 
humiliated  by  this  manly  trust  of  her  hus 
band  she  accused  him  of  indifference  and 
vowed  to  punish  it.  What  a  justification 
for  her  conduct! 


TALES    OF    JAPAN  153 


It  was  nearly  two  o'clock  in  the  morn 
ing.  The  moon  stood  pale  and  silent 
many  steps  below  the  zenith  on  her  de 
cline,  and  she  threw  the  dark  outline  of  a 
weeping  willow  almost  half  way  across  the 
quicksilver  of  the  lakelet  in  the  back  gar 
den  of  Count  Yoshimori's  Azabu  chateau. 

"  At  the  same  hour  three  nights  hence!  " 
a  woman's  voice  murmured. 

"  Yes,  madam,  all  will  be  ready;  I  will 
wait  for  you  at  the  gate.  The  steamer,  as 
you  know,  madam,  will  sail  at  5.35  in  the 
morning.  Three  hours  from  here  to  Yoko 
hama/'  a  man's  voice  answered. 

"  And  America  will  be  the  '  Balcony  of 
the  Lotus '  for  me — for  us!  " 

"  Till  then." 

"0  yasumi!" 

Two  shadows  emerged  from  under  the 
willow.  One  of  them  flitted  from  shadow 
to  shadow,  along  the  sheen  of  the  moon 
struck  ripples  of  the  lakelet,  till  it  reached 
the  vine-covered  wall  of  the  chateau.  It 
ascended  the  rope  ladder  gently,  lightly. 


154  1ROKA: 

The  other  stood  perfectly  still  till  a  white 
arm  waved  in  the  silver  of  the  moon  from 
out  of  the  window.  Then  it  sought  the 
stone  wall,  cleared  it,  and  was  no  more. 

The  moon  was  silent;  the  night  was  full 
of  tears. 

The  sleepy  moon  was  again  the  sole 
witness. 

There  was  a  noise  among  the  vines  on 
the  wall  of  the  chateau  of  Count  Yoshi- 
mori.  The  noise  sounded  like  the  confu 
sion  of  many  kidnapped  sighs.  The  rope 
ladder  was  rubbing  the  leaves  in  its  fall. 
Very  soon  a  grey,  bird-like  shadow  perched 
upon  it.  Step  by  step  it  descended,  wak 
ing  the  midnight  dreams  of  the  vine  into 
many  a  suppressed  exclamation. 

There  were  soft  steps  approaching  the 
foot  of  the  ladder,  but  these  the  countess 
did  not  hear.  There  was  a  dark  outline  of 
a  man  at  the  point  toward  which  she  was 
descending,  but  him,  she  did  not  see. 

Within  a  few  steps  from  the  ground, 
turning  her  head  to  survey  the  distance 
from  the  earth,  she  saw  the  masked  man. 


TALES    OF    JAPAN  155 

Then  she  let  go  her  hands  on  the  ropes 
and  fell  into  his  arms. 

"  Sweet  lover,  how  thoughtful  of  you! 
I  expected  to  find  you  at  the  gate!  "  she 
said,  embracing  him. 

"  My  darling,  my  wife!  " 

A  savage  shock  as  powerful  as  an  elec 
tric  current  shot  through  her.  She  gave 
a  violent  start  and  tried  to  push  herself 
away  with  a  fearful  force.  But  Count 
Yoshimori  held  her  firmly. 

"Be  calm,  my  dear,"  he  said,  gently. 
"  He  is  here  too — see  ?  " 

Another  shadow  glided  out  of  an  azalea 
bush  and  came  toward  her.  Yes,  it  was 
he:  and  the  countess  expected  him  to  de 
spatch  her  husband  into  a  dreamless  sleep 
with  a  blow.  Her  husband  said: 

"  Let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  present 
ing  to  your  ladyship  a  missionary,  engaged 
in  the  work  of  saving  hearts — husbands' 
sweethearts." 

An  hysterical  laugh — she  fainted — the 
death  of  romance! 

There  is  no  truer  wife  in  the  world  to 
day  than  Countess  Yoshimori. 


Kataki-Uchi 


Kataki-Uchi 


Like  many  another  serious  thing — a 
modest  breeze  can  blow  down  an  oak  while 
in  the  seed — the  whole  thing  had  its  birth 
in  the  light  laughter  of  ill-timed  levity. 

The  banquet — it  was  given  in  honour  of 
the  Autumn  Moon — was  held  on  the  pal 
ace  veranda  of  our  lord  of  the  Kameyama 
Castle.  The  maple  leaves  were  turning, 
and  the  Ninth  Moon  of  the  year  was  dying. 
With  all  that,  summer  did  not  seem  to  like 
the  idea  of  being  forgot,  and  the  memory 
of  her  riotous  glory  hung  somewhere — you 
could  not  tell  just  where  to  save  your  life 
— perhaps  alone  in  the  minds  of  the  poets 
at  the  banquets  as  the  gracious  perfume 
lingers  when  the  lady  is  passed  and  gone. 

Mazima  Kumando  was  at  the  banquet. 


160  1ROKA: 

The  Buddhist  speaks  of  the  full  moon  as 
representing  Truth — not  an  ugly  idea. 
And.,  on  that  night,  she  did  look  like  the 
face  of  a  Buddha — pensive,  nirvanic,  beau 
tiful.  They  chanted  her  praise  in  classic 
couplets;  and,,  of  course,  they  also  drank  to 
her  health.  For  was  it  not  for  that  they 
had  gathered  there?  The  result  was,  that 
in  spite  of  the  serene  charms  of  the  au 
tumnal  moon,  spring  tided  through  the 
veins  of  the  samurai  feasters.  The  sake 
also  loosened  the  string  which  ties  the 
tongue  and  which  is  called  discretion. 
Battlefield  experiences — for  veterans  were 
many  among  them — adventures  with  bears, 
and  also  of  love.  Men  are  such  hopelessly 
and  incurably  vain  fools.  They  talked — I 
mean  they  blew  their  own  horns,  and 
blessed  are  they  who  blow  their  own  horns, 
for  at  least  they  will  be  blown! — of  fenc 
ing,  of  the  art  of  jyujitsu. 

"  Nothing  can  hold  a  candle  to  the  Itto 
school  when  it  comes  to  the  real  test  of 
swordsmanship." 

"  There  is  a  secret  stroke  in  the  Shibu- 
kawa  school  of  which  none  others  dream!  " 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  161 

"  In  spite  of  all  the  secrets  under  the 
heavens,  there  is  nothing  that  can  hope  to 
cope  with  the  Shinkage  school." 

"  That  really  sounds  to  me  a  large  state 
ment.  Ah,  if  words  be  facts!  " 

"  The  august  one  speaks  as  if  he  would 
not  object  to  seeing  my  statement  tested. 
Very  good.  Nothing  is  easier." 

"  May  the  humble  one  beg  the  honour 
of  being  your  pair-sword?  " 

And  as  sake  mounted  to  their  heads 
they  rose  with  their  hands  on  the  hilts  of 
their  swords. 

"  Gentlemen,  gentlemen!  Ah,  gentle 
men!  Allow  the  humble  one  to  remind 
the  honourable  presences  that  this  is  the 
palace  of  our  lord,  the  prince." 

(The  samurai  could  draw  the  sword  in 
the  palace  of  their  lord.  But  they  apolo 
gised  for  their  misbehaviour  by  commit 
ting  hara-kiri  on  the  morrow.) 

Thereupon  the  humorous  passed  the 
resolution: 

"  All  the  discussions,  military,  are  too 
angular  for  a  gathering  such  as  this!    The 
god  of  mirth!  this  is  a  gentle  fete! " 
11 


1 62  1ROKA: 

Love  adventures,  then?  Where,  pray, 
were  they  out  of  place? 

It  was  not  given  to  the  common  to  un 
derstand  everything.  This  among  other 
things:  why  a  certain  set  of  people  could 
find  such  a  storm  of  merriment  in  a  "  once- 
upon-a-time-there-was-a-fairy,"  or  "but 
she  was  a  Komachi! "  or  "  when  I  was  a 
devil  of  a  fellow/'  and  so  forth. 

"  Oh,  the  babblings  of  babes,  aha!  ha!  " 
No  one  hearing  that  voice  could  believe 
that  it  was  sixty-one  winters  old.  And 
the  appearance  of  the  speaker  was  a  more 
skilful  liar  than  his  voice. 

"  Through  what  knotty  karma  or 
through  what  heinous  crime  that  we  might 
have  committed  in  our  dreams,  do  we  de 
serve  this  punishment?"  A  youthful 
voice  opened  fire  upon  him. 

"What  punishment?" 

"  Yes;  what  else  could  the  love-confes 
sion  of  sixty-one  winters  be?  " 

"Ah,  well!" 

"  What  I  want  to  know,  sir,"  the  young 
man  was  desperate,  "  is  how  you  are  going 
to  apologise  to  your  bald  head." 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  163 

Another  young  man  broke  in: 

"  From  a  saintly,  martyr-like  motive, 
then,  just  to  save  the  situation " 

It  was  a  selfish  and  at  the  same  time 
an  exquisite  pleasure  of  bullying  once  for 
all  the  old  beau  into  silence  that  they 
wanted;  but  the  result  was  the  same:  they 
allowed  the  young  man  to  tell  his  little 
story. 

It  was  on  the  Eiver  Katsura,  in  the  Val 
ley  of  Arashi-Yama — so  went  the  story  of 
the  young  man.  The  water  of  the  stream 
was  almost  altogether  made  up  of  the 
melted  snow  from  the  high,  dustless, 
lonely  world;  therefore  there  was  that  pi 
quant  charm,  in  the  water,  like  the  cyni 
cism  of  Talleyrand.  But  the  spring  and 
cherry  blossoms  were  already  filling  the 
boudoir  of  good  old  Dame  Nature  with  the 
dawn-cloud  of  satin  and  mists  that  were 
tulle.  There  was  a  pleasure  boat,  and  in 
it  two  ladies.  The  servants  had  gone  after 
something  and  left  the  boat  moored  to  the 
bank.  A  drunkard  came  along;  insulted 
the  ladies — the  young  man  to  the  rescue — 
and  Eomance  was  born. 


1 64  IROKA: 

Love  at  first  sight;  and  what  tender 
leave-taking! 

"  Talk  about  the  tendrils  of  morning- 
glories;  the  grace  of  willows!  Pshaw! 
And  when  her  arms  became  entangled — 
and  all  the  rest  of  it,  you  know.  I'm  not 
a  novelist,  but " 

"  Y-e-s! "  a  lazy  hybrid  between  sneer, 
laughter,  and  condescension.  "  Just  then, 
you  honourably  condescended  to  wake  up, 
did  you  not?  And  it  was  really  too  bad, 
that  terrible  cold  in  your  august  head  and 
that  devilish  rheumatism  in  your  honour 
able  legs!  Be  gracious  enough  to  conde 
scend  to  enlighten  us  whether  the  pebbles 
on  the  dry  river  bed  are  the  best  stuff  for 
bedding  or  not,  pray!  " 

"  Just  as  I  thought — you  are  skeptical. 
Very  well,  then.  Here  is  the  proof." 

He  took  out  from  the  breast  folds  of  his 
kimono  a  brocade  sack,  very  small  and 
dainty  as  the  plum  blossom. 

"  This  is  her  parting  gift.  I  have  al 
ways  carried  it  in  my  Jcimono,  because  it 
has  such  a  delicious  fragrance.  Smell  it 
if  you  like." 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  165 

Skepticism  bowed,  and  the  scent-sack 
went  the  round.  The  majority  of  young 
men  laughed  at  him  and  told  him  that  his 
worthy  aunt  was  not  proof  against  thieves. 
But  they  believed  him.  None  had  ever 
smelt  such  a  delicate  perfume  before. 
There  was  just  one  exception  to  this — 
Mazima  Kumando. 

Handsome,  rather  pale,  and  with  a  line 
of  determination  dimpled  at  its  corners  for 
his  mouth,  high  brow  and  an  upright 
figure.  He  was  a  newcomer  from  a  distant 
clan.  Our  lord  met  him  at  Kioto  and  en 
gaged  him  at  once  with  much  solicitation 
and  liberality.  The  prince  made  no  mis 
take  in  his  choice.  There  were  only  three 
men  in  the  entire  clan  who  could  handle 
the  sword  better  than  he.  And  yet,  he  was 
employed  as  the  tutor  to  the  young 
princes. 

Mazima  Kumando  recognised  the  bro 
cade  sack,  and  he  was  well  acquainted  with 
the  delicate  perfume. 

Years  ago  he  had  saved  the  life  of  a 
princess — a  sister  of  his  former  lord.  The 
grateful  lady  begged  him  to  accept  the 


1 66  IROKA: 

scent-sack.  It  had  been  the  treasure  of 
the  princely  house — that  little  sack  where 
upon  was  wrought  one  of  those  microscopic 
miracles/ of  embroidery.  And  the  princess 
wanted  it  and  the  delicate  perfume  therein 
to  recall  to  him,  in  their  charming  and 
fragrant  way,  her  thankful  heart.  When 
he  returned  home,  he  naturally  offered  it 
to  his  lady,  and  so  the  responsibility  of 
guarding  it  fell  upon  her. 

One  spring  they  spent  a  month  at  the 
Capital  of  Flowers,  and  the  lady  went  out 
to  see  the  cherry  blossoms  of  Arashi-Yama. 
On  her  return  home,  she  found  that  she 
had  lost  her  precious  scent-sack.  A  long 
and  exhaustive  search  for  it; — disappoint- 
-  ment  was  the  only  reward  of  it  all. 

Such,  then,  was  the  history  of  the  sack 
of  perfume.  That  also  was  the  reason  why 
Mazima  recognised  it  at  once,  with  a  sin 
gular  storm  of  emotions. 

An  awful  pallor  fell  upon  him;  the  sak6 
summer  was  chilled  out  of  his  veins.  Such 
sudden  snowstorm  of  his  features  could 
not  escape  the  notice  of  his  merry  friends. 

"  Are  you  ill?    What's  the  matter?  " 


I* ALES    OF   JAPAN  167 

All  eyes,  in  an  instant,  were  upon  him. 
Shadows  were  gathering  in  his  eyes.  They 
were  fixed  upon  the  mat  without  seeing  it. 
Nearly  all  who  had  heard  the  story  be 
lieved  the  teller  of  the  tale:  he  had  never 
had  a  reputation  of  being  imaginative. 
And  then,  too,  appearance  was  so  much  in 
his  favour.  He  was  not  exactly  a  sober 
man  at  the  beginning  of  his  story,  nor,  in 
deed,  at  the  end  of  the  telling.  But  all  of 
a  sudden,  as  soon  as  his  eyes  rested  upon 
the  death  snow  of  Mazima,  who  seemed  to 
have  recognised  the  sack,  he  was  a  very 
sober  man.  One  word  from  him  would 
have  saved  the  situation,  and  also  one, 
two,  three  lives — among  others  his  own. 
But  what  would  you?  Men  are  not  gods,, 
and  cowardice,  more  than  conscience, 
makes  us  fools.  Let  us  be  just.  Kaneko 
— the  name  of  the  young  samurai — 
wanted  indeed  to  say: 

"  And  so  you  all  believe  my  tale,  do  you? 
Ha!  ha!  ha!  It's  nothing  but  a  little  joke, 
a  made-up  story.  I  picked  up  this  sack  on 
the  bank  of  Katsura  Eiver  when  I  was 
fishing  there  on  a  spring  day." 


1 68  IROKA: 

But  he  did  not. 

Suddenly  Mazima  Kumando  rose  on  his 
knees,  and  in  a  flash — so  quickly,  indeed, 
that  his  hand  seemed  a  mere  streak  of  blur 
— his  sword  was  bare. 

Those  nearest  him  fell  upon  him,  trying 
to  disarm  him.  One  of  them  lost  his  life 
in  the  attempt.  Meanwhile  the  teller  of 
the  tale  escaped. 

The  eight  million  gods  could  not,  if  they 
tried,  make  Mazima  Kumando  question 
the  purity  of  his  wife  for  a  moment.  And 
when  the  story  was  told  and  the  tipsy  men 
laughed  over  it,  and  when  the  sack  was 
produced  as  the  evidence,  and  men  be 
lieved  the  teller  of  the  tale,  there  was 
nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  wash  the 
insult  offered  to  the  stainless  name  of  his 
wife — after  the  manner  of  the  samurai. 
And  he  did. 

He  was  mortified  at  his  sinful  awkward 
ness,  and  censured  himself  for  it:  there  was 
no  excuse  for  him  to  have  missed  his  foe. 

He  went  home.  At  the  entrance  porch 
of  his  house  the  servants  announced, 
"  the  august  has  returned!  "  Above  the 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  169 

steps  an  uplifted  lantern  welcomed  him 
home.  And  in  this  manner,  his  lady  never 
failed  to  meet  him  since  their  marriage. 

"  Eather  early  to-night,  my  lord/'  she 
remarked. 

No  answer.  And  when  the  light  of  the 
lantern  fell  upon  the  ghost-whiteness  of 
his  face: 

"What,  what  is  the  matter,  my  hus 
band?  Something  happened,  I  know. 
Condescend  to  tell  the  humble  one,  I 
pray  you." 

Of  course  the  story — the  whole  story — 
was  told  her  at  once;  never  a  secret  could 
exist  between  Mazima  and  his  wife. 

"  Madam,  a  man  who  murders  the  hon 
our  of  a  lady,  a  good  wife,  should  die. 
That  is  well.  But  the  criminal  awkward 
ness  of  my  hand!  "  he  concluded. 

She  could  not  say  anything. 

She  felt  one  thing:  that  her  husband 
had  turned  into  a  powerful  magnet.  And 
— it  was  no  use — she  could  not  resist  him. 
Her  knees  pressed  steadily  toward  him. 
Also,  without  being  conscious,  her  hands 
were  upon  his  arm;  thrilling  and  in  a  tre- 


1 70  IR  OKA  : 

mour  they  closed  upon  it  tighter  and 
tighter.  Her  eyes  were  filled  with  flood; 
and  the  depth  of  them  seemed  to  recede 
till  one  could  not  measure  it.  Shadows 
mysterious  gathered  into  them,  and  then, 
all  of  a  sudden,  a  flash  or  a  spark  scattered 
them  all  into  nothingness.  A  mortal 
put  on  immortality:  Lady  Mazima  was 
soul. 

Her  husband  had  been  a  god  to  her. 
Her  heart  was  his  shrine;  but  at  the  same 

time And  now  that  he  had  acted 

like  a  god  in  his  faith  in  her,  she  was 
surprised. 

"  In  the  face  of  so  suspicious  an  evi 
dence,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  does  he 
think  that  I'm  really  a  goddess,  incapable 
of  a  wrong?  " 

To  be  sure  the  lips  of  her  husband  had 
never  told  her  that  she  was  a  goddess — the 
extravagance  of  the  oriental  tongue  does 
not  permit  so  extravagant  an  expression; 
but  nothing  prevented  him  from  telling 
her  so  in  his  life-letters.  You  say  women 
are  vain.  It  seems,  however,  that  it  was 
the  hardest  thing  in  the  world  for  Lady 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  171 

Mazima  to  believe  that  she  was  divine  in 
the  eyes  of  her  husband.  How  could  any 
man  without  the  eyes  of  a  god  trust  her  so 
completely? 

Her  eyes  burnt  upon  him.  He,  how 
ever,  at  the  time,  seemed  drowned  in  his 
own  thoughts.  And  in  her  eyes  he  became 
a  miracle.  It  was  not  very  hard  to  see  that 
she  had  never  been  so  happy  and  quite  so 
sad  as  she  was  then.  The  manliness  of  her 
husband  came  upon  her  with  a  new  mean 
ing;  and,  at  the  same  time,  she  realised 
that  her  husband's  life  was  numbered  with 
the  dew  of  the  morrow's  field. 

"  Noble  husband! » 

Her  voice  navigated  through  innumera 
ble  chokings  and  sobs. 

"I  will  be  honoured  with  a  message 
from  our  lord  to-morrow,"  he  quietly  said. 
She  understood  him,  of  course:  he  referred 
to  the  rite  of  hara-kiri. 

"Tell  me,  precious  husband,"  she 
begged,  "  that  we  will  start  together  for 
the  Lotus-Land?  You  will  allow  me  to 
attend  you  through  the  dark  paths,  will 
you  not?" 


1 72  IROKA: 

"  Oh,  no!  The  offender,  madam,  does 
he  not  still  live?" 

And  she  begged  his  pardon. 

"  Sir,  it  will  not  be  long,"  she  assured 
him.  "  You  will  wait  for  me  in  the  shades 
of  the  stars.  And  may  all  the  Buddhas' 
grace  be  with  my  august  beloved!  " 


II 


Mazima  Kumando  became  a  heroic 
memory — in  that  samurai  fashion  which 
does  not  seem  to  tell  death  from  sleep. 
All  that  the  clan  knew  of  the  beautiful 
young  widow  was  that  she  begged  her 
father  to  come  to  her  all  the  way  from  her 
home  clan  in  order  that  he  might  support 
her  in  her  sore  hours,  and  that  her  father 
came  to  her.  Why  not  her  mother  instead 
of  her  father?  None  knew. 

And  as  the  days  of  his  stay  heaped  them 
selves  into  many  moons,  the  Kameyama 
Clan — the  gossip  and  the  curious  in  it, 
I  mean — wondered  if  the  father  of  the 
widow,  still  at  the  prime  of  life,  had  no 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  173 

special  duty  with  the  lord  of  his  own 
clan. 

One  Sugiyama,  a  young  samurai,  hap 
pened  to  pass  along  the  hedge  of  the 
Mazima  mansion  one  dark  hour  far  be 
yond  midnight.  The  lights  in  the  man 
sion  and  the  sounds  he  heard  made  him 
halt  sharply. 

"  Sword  exercises — fencing  at  this  late 
hour,  upon  my  soul! — rather  at  this  crazy 
early  hour!  And  the  woman's  voice.  The 
widow's! " 

Evidently  his  wit  was  not  arranged  with 
an  electric  button.  He  sunk  very  deep  in 
thought.  But  at  last: 

"  Why,  of  course — the  widow — why,  of 
course! " 

And  so  it  came  to  pass  that  a  chance 
enlightened  this  young  samurai  far  better 
than  the  rest  of  the  clans-people. 

But  a  samurai  has  his  code  of  honour; 
and  the  secret  was  safe. 

Now,  the  father  of  the  widow  was,  per 
haps,  the  best  swordsman  of  his  own  clan. 
Indeed,  the  horizon  of  his  good  lord's  prov 
ince  was  too  narrow  for  his  fame.  That 


174  IROKA: 

then,  was  the  reason  why  the  widow  sought 
consolation  in  her  father.  The  superb 
skill  with  the  sword  was  the  only  thing 
that  could  soothe  her  at  that  time — not 
sympathy  alone.  Every  night — when  men 
and  things  and  most  of  the  gods  are  said 
to  be  asleep — in  the  mystic  hours,  the 
watchful  stars  saw  the  gentle  lady  spin 
herself  out  of  the  cleverest  web  woven  by 
the  swift  sword-swing  of  her  father. 

Six  months  later 

The  widow  was  still  in  the  very  midst  of 
her  mourning.  And,  therefore,  the  news 
which  flew  throughout  the  Kameyama 
Castle  town,  one  fine  autumn  morning, 
caught  the  people  open-mouthed. 

The  widow  had  just  sent  her  challenge 
to  Kaneko. 

"  The  wife  of  a  samurai  !  "  they  all  said, 
smiling  and  deeply  touched.  And  the 
lord  of  the  clan  appointed  the  fifteenth  of 
the  month  for  the  day. 

From  that  time  people  began  to  count 
the  passage  of  days  impatiently.  And  at 
last! 

Around  the  field  of  honour,  embracing 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  175 

a  huge  circular  space,  stood  a  tall  bamboo 
fence.  The  samurais  of  the  entire  clan 
were  out  in  their  ceremonial  robes.  They 
were  there,  so  many  guardians  of  the 
samurai  honour. 

Near  the  centre  of  the  field  sat  two  in 
spectors,  chosen  by  his  highness  the  lord 
of  the  clan.  Time  walked  very  slowly 
that  day.  They  were  very  impatient,  the 
spectators;  at  the  same  time  they  respected 
the  solemn  weight  of  the  occasion.  The 
silence  that  sat  upon  them  was  of  death. 

There  was  an  undertow  of  whispered 
murmurs  and  the  people  swayed  as  waves. 

They  caught  sight  of  a  slender  young 
lady.  She  was  clad  from  head  to  heel  in 
silk,  perfectly  white- — white  as  if  her 
Tcimono  had  fallen  straight  out  of  the  skies 
with  the  snow.  The  cascade  of  her  hair 
was  tied  with  a  single  knot  of  classic  sim 
plicity  and  was  thrown  back,  free  to  coquet 
with  every  idle  breeze.  Her  graceful 
sleeves  were  caught  up  by  the  cord  to 
afford  her  arm  free  play.  Her  father 
escorted  her  to  the  centre  of  the  field. 
He  was  her  sponsor. 


176  1ROKA: 

She  was  pale,  and  the  stars  were  in  her 
eyes.  Also  she  was  very  happy.  For  was 
she  not,  this  day,  to  avenge  to  the  fullest 
satisfaction  of  her  heart  the  death  of  her 
hushand  ? 

If  she  fell,  that  would  not  matter  much. 
For  her  father  could  not  fail.  There  was, 
therefore,  nothing  for  her  to  fear. 

Kaneko  was  also  in  white.  The  duel 
was  unto  death. 

The  samurai  is  by  nature  gallant.  A 
woman's  blood  is  the  darkest  stain  on  his 
sword.  But  all  was  different  with  him 
now.  He  was  challenged  on  the  field  of 
honour  by  a  lady.  And,  therefore,  to  her 
was  due  the  respect  of  doing  his  utmost — 
not  so  much,  perhaps,  for  his  life,  but  for 
the  honour  of  his  sword,  to  be  true  to  the 
code  of  the  samurai. 

She  extended  her  bare  arm — made  up 
altogether  of  white  curves  of  grace  and  bil 
lowing  with  life — and  took  her  naginata 
in  her  bud-like  fist.  The  kisses  of  the  sun 
fell  upon  the  lustre  of  her  skin  in  stars. 

Weapons  in  hand,  they  stood  face  to 
face.  And  the  beautiful  young  widow 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  177 

swept  him  an  exquisite  and  most  irre 
proachable  courtesy.  He  returned  it  with 
one  above  criticism. 

The  fatal  signal  word  was  cried. 

Kaneko's  sword  met  the  crescent-like 
head  of  her  naginata  with  a  suppressed  sh  I 

Their  eyes  searched  the  depth  of  each 
other's.  Their  stars  froze.  They  had,  to 
all  the  eyes  of  the  spectators,  turned  into 
flint  images;  and  one  would  have  said 
that  a  ghostly  hand,  too  cunning  for  the 
eyes  of  the  flesh,  was  grasping  their  wea 
pons  rigidly,  so  that  they  could  not  move 
them. 

Thus  for  fully  two  minutes.  However, 
one  could  well  afford  to  doubt,  without 
forfeiting  his  sense  of  humour,  whether  a 
single  one  of  the  onlookers  breathed  half 
a  breath  in  all  that  time. 

Then  Kaneko,  with  the  daring  born  of 
death,  cut  in  with  a  lightning  stroke.  All 
of  a  sudden  the  young  lady  seemed  to  be 
suspended  in  mid  air;  wrapping  her  was 
the  diaphanous  blur  of  a  silver  halo.  As 
for  the  exact  position  of  her  arms  and 
her  naginata,  no  naked  eye  could  tell — so 
12 


178  1ROKA: 

rapid  was  their  movement.  But  Kaneko 
was  a  good  swordsman.  With  all  that  his 
soul  was  chilled  within  him.  The  moon- 
like  sheen  of  the  naginata  flew  faster  than 
a  wing  and  searched  the  unguarded  por 
tions  of  his  body  like  lightning  gone  mad. 

It  drove  him  into  desperation. 

Believing  sincerely  that  he  was  making 
a  leap  into  the  very  arms  of  death,  he 
sprang  in  with  a  mad  stroke. 

A  heavy  thud! — and  literally  the  eye 
balls  of  the  spectators  almost  jerked  their 
heads  off  their  shoulders  in  their  hurry  to 
leap  out  of  their  sockets. 

A  sudden  pause  in  the  combat — it  was 
so  short,  this  pause,  that  you  could  not 
measure  it  save  with  your  imagination. 
Long  enough,  however,  it  was  for  the  eyes 
to  see  that  Kaneko's  last  stroke  had  told. 
It  had  beheaded  the  naginata  of  the  lady. 
With  a  heavy  thud  it  fell,  that  glittering 
crescent  head. 

Before  Kaneko  could  recover  the  posi 
tion  of  his  sword,  the  headless,  but  at  the 
same  time  sharp-cut,  naginata  handle 
whistled;  it  flashed  past  his  sword, and 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  179 

A  feminine  voice  rang  clear:  "  The  life 
foe  of  my  husband!  " 

Pierced  deeply  through  the  heart  he  lay; 
and  his  life  was  tearing  itself  away  from 
him  in  gasps. 

She  stood  mute  over  the  fallen.  Her 
stainless  grace  towered  over  the  stained 
humiliation  of  her  foe. 

She  clasped  her  hands;  eyes  closed.  She 
raised  her  face  and  arms  slowly  toward  the 
sun.  Her  lips  trembled,  and  then  tears 
jewelled  her  eyelashes.  She  seemed  to  be 
struggling  to  say  something  to  some  one 
in  heaven. 

The  whole  concourse  of  people  rose  as 
if  hypnotised;  they  were  afraid  to  breathe. 
All  eyes  were  on  the  white  centre  figure 
with  uplifted  arms. 

Just  then  was  heard  a  sweet,  mysterious, 
far-away  voice : 

"  Oh,  husband!     Oh,  my  husband!  " 

Her  father  caught  the  fainting  body  of 
his  daughter. 


The  Death  of  a  Ghost 


The    Death    of  a    Ghost 

The  Story  of  a  Japanese  Artist 


The  evening  of  an  early  summer  day, 
in  those  samurai  days  of  Japan — the 
days  of  swords,  of  poetry,  of  romance,  and 
of  pretty  olive-skinned  coquettes  and  of 
cherry  blossoms. 

Looking  toward  the  west,  you  could  see 
the  bedclothes  of  the  sun  on  both  sides  of 
Fuji-yama.  One  would  have  said  of  the 
sunset  clouds  that  some  rude  hands  must 
have  massacred  angels  without  number 
and  so  outrageously — they  were  stained, 
those  clouds,  with  blood  of  much  richer 
brightness  of  red  than  that  of  mortals, 
and  also  they  were  covered  with  snowy 
downs.- 


1 84  1ROKA: 

Mimura  Kaneyoshi  was  staring  at  the 
sunset.  Mimura  was  an  artist,  and  those 
who  knew  him  and  his  passion  for  the 
beautiful  would  doubtless  have  taken  it 
for  granted  that  the  camera  obscura  of  his 
eyes  was  busy  photographing  the  picture. 
Nothing  of  the  sort,  however.  What  he 
was  trying  to  do  was  to  cut  a  feminine 
kimono  out  of  the  heap  of  gauze,  out  of 
that  chaos  of  glory  that  was  colour,  with 
all  the  critical  refinement  of  an  artist,  for 
her — for  Satono  Fuji. 

Of  her  nothing  unkindly  could  be  said. 
But  she  could  tell  a  thing  or  two  to  some 
of  her  sisters  and  most  of  her  brother 
men  who,  in  their  ignorant  beatitude, 
dream  that  the  beauty  of  a  person  is  one  of 
those  things  which  go  to  the  making  of 
a  woman's  happiness.  Her  head  was  cov 
ered  with  that  lacquer-like  night,  full  of 
light,  which  the  Chinese  poets  are  fond 
of  calling  "  verdant  hair."  No  poniard 
points  were  in  her  eyes  which  smiled  as 
kindly  as  the  bud-like  lips  under  the  pink 
vibration  of  her  nostrils.  The  exquisite 
oval  of  her  cheeks  was  soft  to  the  eye, 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  185 

wrapped  in  its  velvety  floss,  white  as  the 
new-born  snow. 

"  The  second  coming  of  Onono  Ko- 
machi! "  some  of  her  friends  declared. 

"  In  her  former  existence  she  must  have 
been  one  of  the  white  lotus  blossoms  in  the 
sacred  pond  of  the  Buddha-Land,"  others 
believed. 

"  I  am  afraid  of  her/'  the  irreverent  re 
marked,  referring  to  a  manifestation  of  the 
fox- woman;  "no  mere  woman  can  be  as 
fair  as  she  is,  you  know! " 

Without  blaming  Mimura — for  how 
could  they;  is  there  anything  more  natu 
ral  for  an  idolater  of  the  Beautiful  than  to 
fall  at  the  feet  of  0-Fuji?— they  shook 
their  heads  sidewise  over  the  marriage 
of  the  artist  and  this  beautiful  woman. 
Why?  they  themselves  did  not  know  that 
any  more  than  the  mystery  of  their  own 
being.  None  the  less,  they  were  perfectly 
sure  of  the  correctness  of  their  judgment. 

"  She  is  so  beautiful,  and  you  know 
him!  "  they  all  said. 

Indeed,  the  name  of  Mimura  stood  for 
many  things — diverse,  contradictory  things 


1 86  1ROKA: 

sometimes.  He  was  one  of  those  strange 
guests  of  earth  called  genius — that  amus 
ingly  solemn  mixture  of  a  child  and  a 
thunderstorm — with  entirely  too  much 
nerves  than  are  convenient  to  be  comfort 
able  in  this  world,  so  full  of  shocks;  one 
who  foolishly  insists  and  persists  in  insist 
ing  that  this  life  of  beefsteak  and  butter  is 
a  festival  of  the  gods.  A  samurai  by  birth; 
but  the  iron  cage  of  ceremonial  codes  and 
the  Spartan  rigour  of  military  training 
were  not  quite  to  his  taste.  The  little  re 
public  of  Yedo  artists  at  that  time — that 
charming  Bohemia  of  laughter,  of  sak6,  of 
sharp-witted  cynicism — came  to  him  and 
offered  him  a  heaven  where  his  fancy  could 
wing  as  high  as  it  pleased;  also  it  offered 
him  a  brush  which  would,  if  he  but  could, 
bring  down  the  whole  universe  of  stars; 
and  not  only  that,  but  also  the  kingdom  of 
man's  emotions  as  well  as  the  kingdom  of 
heaven,  upon  his  canvas.  Caring  nothing 
for  dignity  and  rank,  and  longing  above 
everything  for  the  association  of  the  gods 
and  of  perfect  freedom,  he  made  haste  to 
enter  the  realm  where  man-made  rank  was 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  187 

a  target-doll  at  which  men  flung  all  im 
aginable  ridicule  and  laughter.  So  he 
was  a  Bohemian:  very  fond  of  sak^  too 
fond  of  his  art.  And  I  defy  any  one — ex 
cept  Fuji,  of  course — to  convince  him  that 
a  blameless.,  tailor-made  dress  is  at  least 
as  good,,  if  not  a  trifle  better,  than  his  rags. 
No  lords  of  elder  memory  despised  money 
as  heartily  as  he  did.  At  the  same  time — 
as  is  so  often  the  case  with  men  of  art 
— he  had  a  vivid  imagination:  he  used  it 
and  he  abused  it,  this  godlike  power. 
When  he  married  beautiful  0-Fuji,  he  did 
not  mean  to  wed  a  Hades  at  the  same  time. 
But  the  fact  stands  obstinate — it  was  his 
jealousy,  his  savage,  unrestrained  jealousy, 
that  acquainted  him  for  the  first  time  with 
a  darker  world  than  this. 

But  as  good  Providence  would  have  it, 
Fuji  was  as  sensible  and  wifely  as  she 
was  a  goddess  in  the  most  sacred  niche  in 
the  temple  called  Beautiful.  To  make  this 
impossible  miracle  of  a  woman  still  more 
wonderful,  she  was  as  true,  even  in  her 
imagination,  as  the  North  Star.  But,  of 
course,  she  would  not  be  human  without 


1 88  1ROKA: 

having  something  which  would  rivet  her 
perfection,  so  to  speak,  down  to  earth. 
That  one  thing  was  very  far  from  being  a 
fault — rather  a  virtue,  indeed.  Knowing 
how  sensitive  Mimura  was,  she  wanted  to 
shield  him  from  all  possible  annoyances. 
And  so  it  came  to  pass,  in  the  course  of 
not  a  long  time,  that  she  had  a  secret  or 
two  of  her  own — secrets  that  he  did  not 
share. 

Very  absent-mindedly,  one  fine  morning 
with  his  head  full  of  charming  colours 
and  glories  of  the  field — May  had  been 
painting  upon  it  for  twenty  days — Mimura 
walked  into  his  little  cottage  home.  A 
man's  voice  was  saying  something.  He 
also  heard  his  wife's  voice: 

"  He  mustn't  have  the  slightest  ghost  of 
suspicion  of  all  this — not  the  slightest." 

"  Depend  on  me!  " 

It  was  his  brother's  voice,  this  mascu 
line  sound.  It  was  as  though  the  last  par 
ticle  of  his  blood  seemed,  all  of  a  sud 
den,  to  have  been  driven  into  his  heart. 
Trembling  with  a  sinister  earthquake  of 


TALES    OF  JAPAN  189 

the  soul,  almost  breathless,  with  a  terrible 
calm  on  his  petrified  features,  he  turned 
away.  Eeally,  he  was  afraid  of  himself. 
No,  he  could  not  retain  his  self-control — 
to  listen  to  them  longer. 

"  Is  it  possible?  Is  it  really?  Ah!  I 
have  thought  of  it  all  the  time — what  a 
fool,  what  an  ass  I  am!  " 

In  his  studio,  upon  which  he  had  just 
turned  his  back,  the  conversation  between 
his  wife  and  his  brother  went  on  uninter 
rupted,  without  a  shadow  of  a  suspicion  of 
what  was  taking  place  in  the  heart  of  that 
artist  walking  away  down  the  sunny  street, 
looking  very  much  like  a  doomed  spirit 
departing  from  the  land  of  Light. 

"You  see/'  said  beautiful  Fuji,  "my 
precious  husband  is  sensitive,  just  like  all 
other  great  men — all  the  bright  children 
of  high  heaven.  And  it  is  a  crime  to  an 
noy  him  with  the  humdrum  of  life.  Be 
lieve  me,  brother,  I  would  sooner  commis 
sion  a  god  to  attend  to  the  purchase  of 
muddy  radishes.  No,  no!  I  can't  bear 
it.  Everything  I  can  do  to  shield  him  is 
the  sweetest  work  of  my  life.  Nothing 


190  1ROKA: 

makes  me  happier.  But  you  see  I  could 
not  attend  to  this  money  matter  myself; 
and  you  are  always  so  good.  I  really  don't 
know  what  I  would  do  without  you!  " 

"As  you  say,  sister — yes!  I  am  ever  at 
your  service.  I  quite  agree  with  you  about 
my  brother.  But  heavens!  what  a  tre 
mendous  partiality  of  the  God  of  Luck 
to  have  a  wife  like  you! " 

After  that,  there  were  occasions  when 
the  enthusiastic  exaltation  of  his  wife  over 
his  artistic  efforts  fell  upon  the  ears  of 
Mimura  like  an  echo  from  an  empty  cav 
ern.  And  the  child-thunderstorm  sulked. 
All  this  not  quite  two  years  after  their 
marriage. 


II 


" Hei,  old  chap!"  cried  Inouye  after 
Mimura  one  day;  "a  big  streak  of  luck, 
old  boy!  Come  with  me — my  treat,  my 
treat!  Come! » 

There  was  just  one  man  in  all  the  happy 
Bohemia  of  saJcS  and  wit  with  whom  Mi- 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  191 

mura  enjoyed  his  cup:  that  was  Inouye — 
all  others  were  too  weak  for  him. 

"  What's  up  now  ?  You  did  not  rob  any 
one?" 

"  Yes;  but  only  a  fool,  so  it  doesn't  mat 
ter.  That  picture  of  a  pine  tree,  you  re 
member — a  worthless  daub  of  mine?  " 

"  Yes."  The  tone  of  his  voice  made 
it  exceedingly  ambiguous  to  what  "  yes  " 
referred. 

"  I  sold  it  to  a  fool  of  a  daimyo.  Now 
then,  listen !  Under  a  blushing  cherry,  to 
the  music  of  nightingales — if  you  insist  on 
being  poetical.  Honourably  condescend?  " 

"No!  oh,  no!" 

"No?  Well,  I'd  be That's  the 

first  time  you've  declined  an  offer  of 
that  sort.  What  god  has  anathematised 
you?" 

"  None." 

"What  then,  in  heaven's  name,  is  the 
matter  with  you?" 

"  Oh,  well,  you  never  give  me  enough — 
you  tickle  my  thirst  into  madness  and 
leave  it  unquenched  every  time." 

"  Aha,  ha!  old  chap,  don't  I  know  you, 


192  IROKA: 

you  bottomless  Shojyo!  I  will  fix  you  this 
time,  old  man — you  just  wait.  I  have  just 
bought  a  cask  of  shyochyu.  How's  that  ?  " 

Inouye  smiled.  Nobody  can  call  shyo 
chyu  weak,  it  is  almost  pure  alcohol. 

"Hum!  a  cask  of  shyocliyu! — that's 
not  enough  for  a  sitting." 

"What!  I'll  bet  you  twenty  pieces  of 
silver  that  you  can't  dry  it  at  two  sittings, 
that  cask  of  shyochyu." 

"  Nonsense!  I  lay  you  two  to  one  that 
I  will  see  its  bottom  at  a  sitting." 

"  Heavens!  if  I  didn't  know  what  a 
merry  liar  you  are!  " 

"  Out  with  your  twenty  pieces  of  silver, 
then,  if  your  purse  is  so  anxious  to  throw 
off  its  burden! " 

So  they  went.  In  the  tepid  twilight  of 
the  spring  day,  sweet  and  heavy  with  all 
sorts  of  voluptuous  fragrance,  they  drank 
far  into  the  night.  And  a  wonder  came 
to  pass:  at  last  the  cask  was  empty.  Mi- 
mura  gathered  the  silver  heap,  shining  like 
corroded  moonlight,  and  pocketed  it. 

"  Look  here,  Mimura,  you  better  stay 
just  where  you  are  to-night.  I  will  let  you 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  193 

go  back  early  in  the  morning.  You  must 
go  home?  You  may  never  get  home, 
man! " 

"Aha!  ha!  I— I?  There  is  plenty 
room  for  another  cask  of  shyochyu  here. 
Ha,  ha,  ha!  Can't  walk?  What  do  you 
mean,  berabo?  Can't  stand  up?  Go  to! 
Get  me  a  baby  carriage  then.  You  think 
I  ought  to  be  rocked  to  sleep  in  a  cradle. 
What  do  you  take  me  for?  " 

In  spite  of  the  daring  declaration,  Mi- 
mura  did  not  know  when  or  how  he  was 
taken  home  to  his  all-anxious  wife. 

Those  were  the  days  when  the  trick 
called  artificial  respiration  was  unknown. 
They  knew  very  little  of  the  paralysing 
effect  of  alcohol  on  the  cardiac  nerves.  In 
the  arms  of  beautiful  Fuji  her  husband 
was  a  corpse — there  was  no  sign  of  breath 
ing;  no  beat  of  heart. 

At  once  she  sent  for  her  brother-in-law; 
doctors  also.  But,  of  course,  an  eminent 
physician  was  beyond  the  reach  of  their 
circumstances.  Mimura  was  beyond  the 
cunning  of  medicine,  the  physicians  said. 

There  was  nothing  to  be  done  on  the 
13 


194  IROKA: 

following  day  but  to  prepare  him  for 
burial. 

When  the  day  was  done,  and  the  melan 
choly  of  night  began  to  fall,  Fuji's  excess 
of  grief  alarmed  the  brother  of  the  dead. 

"  Sister,  you  must  rest  a  while.  Sleep 
a  while  if  you  can;  you  will  break  down, 
you  know." 

"  Oh,  no,  brother,  I  must  watch  through 
the  night!  Oh,  my  husband!  " 

Giving  way,  all  of  a  sudden,  she  wept, 
wept,  wept. 

At  last  she  raised  her  head:  "  Leave  me 
now,  brother,  will  you  not?  I  want  to  be 
alone  with  my  husband  a  while/' 

Her  sorrow  was  something  very  strong. 
He  was  not  so  sure  of  her  sanity  now — 
something  might  happen  any  time.  No, 
he  could  not  leave  her  with  her  husband 
alone. 

"  All  alone  with  the  dead?  You  know, 
madam,  I  cannot  do  that.  Let  me  call  in 
one  of  the  lady  neighbours  to  watch  with 
you?" 

"  Oh,  no,  no!  I  want  to  be  alone  with 
him." 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  195 

And  then  smiling  through  her  tears: 
"  Will  you  not  humour  me  this  once  ?  " 

It  was  rather  late — midnight  was  not 
very  far  ahead  of  them.  Sad  rain  was  fall 
ing  outside.  The  chilly,  death-like  fingers 
of  the  damp  night  stole  into  the  cottage 
through  the  amado.  They  shivered. 

"  You  must  not  stay  in  this  room,  if  you 
insist  on  staying  up." 

"  Oh,  please! » 

But  her  brother-in-law  would  not  hear 
of  it — almost  dragged  her  out  of  the  room 
of  death.  A  candle  was  left  to  keep  its 
lonely  vigil  over  the  pallor  of  the  corpse. 

Silent,  with  her  chin  in  her  dress  collar, 
her  eyes  covered  with  her  hands — thus  she 
let  the  midnight  pass  over  her  head. 

Silence;  and  the  rain  breaking  it  with 
its  melancholy  tread,  and  winds  also  with 
their  sobs,  making  it  much  more  silent. 
Her  brother-in-law,  completely  forgot  by 
her,  was  keeping  a  dragon's  watch  over  the 
beautiful  wife  of  his  dead  brother.  By- 
and-bye,  when  he  was  thinking  that  her 
sorrow  rocked  her,  baby-fashion,  into  a 
doze,  she  gently  let  fall  her  hands  from 


196  IRQKA: 

her  eyes,  and,  without  looking  at  him,  she 
said: 

"  Good  brother,  I  have  prayed  to  the 
Buddhas:  they  understand  my  heart  now. 
I  am  quite  ready  to  go  and  join  them — and 
my  husband.  I  do  not  want  him  to  journey 
far  in  the  shadow-land  alone  without  me. 
I  am  going  to  race  after  him,  so  I  can  catch 
him  in  a  short  time.  As  you  see,  I  am 
going  to  leave  my  mother  and  sisters  with 
you.  Tell  them,  when  you  shall  see  them 
in  their  far-away  home,  that  I  went  away 
with  my  husband — as  all  true  wives  should 
do.  You  will  do  this  for  me,  will  you 
not?  Will  you  promise  me,  brother?" 

He  did  not  answer  her — could  not  speak. 
It  was  a  custom  of  the  time  with  a  high- 
minded  woman  of  the  samurai  class,  to 
think  it  a  shame  to  survive  her  husband, 
especially  when  there  were  no  children  and 
no  expressed  will  of  her  husband  to  that 
effect.  Her  brother-in-law  understood  her 
perfectly.  He  was  a  samurai;  and  sooner 
would  he  have  robbed  her  of  her  virtue 
than  to  have  prevented  her  performance  of 
this  rite,  at  once  the  token  of  undivided, 


TALES   OF   JAPAN  197 

all-absorbing  love  for  her  husband  and 
also  of  that  philosophic  conviction  that 
the  casting  aside  of  this  robe  of  flesh  could 
never  touch  her  real  life.  It  was  the  last 
sacrament  of  honour.  Moreover,  she  had 
no  longing  to  live — and  why  should  she 
have?  The  centre  and  end  of  her  life 
was  cold  in  the  shroud,  and  to  chain  her 
to  this  life  of  earth  would  have  been  one  of 
the  most  atrocious  of  cruelties.  No,  he 
would  not  do  that,  her  brother-in-law. 

From  between  her  girdle  she  took  out  a 
short  sword,  such  as  the  samurai  women 
of  old  Japan  used  to  carry.  She  drew  it; 
placed  it  in  front  of  her. 

"Brother/'  she  said  again.  And  she 
raised  her  face.  And  that  was  the  first 
time  that  he  saw,  in  the  blood-like,  uncer 
tain  light  of  the  candle,  her  features  wet 
with  tears. 

Dews  rarely  spoil  a  really  beautiful 
flower.  This  brother  of  the  artist  had  the 
same  adoration  for  the  beautiful.  And 
the  sight  of  this  beautiful  woman,  with 
the  cold,  moonlike  sheen  of  the  blade  at 
her  knees — ah!  The  storm  of  emotion 


198  1ROKA: 

whirled  him  up  to  a  height:  it  made  him 
dizzy.  He  naturally  forgot  himself. 

"  Oh,  sister,"  he  groaned. 

There  was  such  a  strange  ring  to  that 
wail  of  his  soul  that,  absorbed  and  obliv 
ious  to  all  else  in  her  meditation  as  she  was, 
it  distracted  her  attention  for  a  second. 
She  raised  her  white  hand  and  waved  back 
his,  which  would  have  seized  the  sword. 
Then  she  sat  facing  the  corner  of  the  ad 
joining  room  where  her  husband  lay  cold, 
and  prepared  herself,  as  was  often  done  in 
those  days,  to  address  her  monologue  to 
her  departed  lover. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  room  of  death,  the 
damp  chill  of  midnight  was  taking  in 
charge  the  shrouded  artist — the  forsaken 
of  physicians. 

When  he  came  to  himself,  Mimura 
asked  his  mind  something,  he  himself 
could  not  tell  what  it  was;  his  mind,  very 
naturally,  took  it  as  a  joke  and  disdained 
to  answer.  He  thought  that  he  heard  a 
voice  of  a  man.  The  lonely  candle  was 
almost  dying.  But  still  in  its  funereal 
light  he  could  see  things  which  were  f amil- 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  199 

iar  to  him.  This  was  his  own  cottage. 
How  did  it  happen  that  he  was  lying  here? 
Heavens!  what  could  be  the  matter  with 
him?  He  did  not  know;  he  felt  very  stu 
pid.  "Without  asking  what  made  him  feel 
so,  he  gave  himself  up  to  languor.  Then 
he  heard: 

"  In  your  love,  and  in  that  alone,  I  have 

had  my  being "  There  was  a  choking 

sob  and  then  silence.  A  feminine  voice! 
Yes,  that  was  her  voice,  there  was  no  doubt 
of  it — his  beautiful  Fuji's  voice.  Wide 
awake  in  a  flash,  he  softly  raised  himself  on 
his  elbow.  What  was  this?  Can  it  be 
possible?  He  was  dressed  like  a  corpse — • 
all  in  white.  Great  stars!  was  he  waking 
in  the  land  of  the  Lotus  after  crossing  the 
Sanzu  Eiver  unconsciously  ?  But  his 
wife's  voice!  And  more  than  ever,  he  was 
sure  that  this  was  his  own  cottage  home. 
Why,  there  was  one  of  his  favourite  pic 
tures  hanging  on  the  wall  as  in  the  days 
of  his  earthly  sojourn. 

Then  the  same  sweet  voice,  but  which 
was  this  time  very  much  more  tremulous 
and  fuller  of  tears,  rose  again: 


200  1ROKA: 

"  Unworthy  as  it  was,  I  have  given  my 
all  to  you — my  heart  and  all — every 
thought  of  my  mind.  Oh,  how  I  loved 
and  worshipped  you,  sweet  lover!  " 

Her  brother-in-law  could  hold  out  no 
longer. 

"AhJcorS!     0-Fuji-san!" 

When  Mimura  recognised  his  brother's 
voice,  he  turned  all  of  a  sudden  into  a 
black  fiend.  He  was  struck  with  a  wicked 
lightning,  which  brought  a  stupendous 
enlightenment  in  its  lurid  glare. 

So  his  brother  and  beautiful  Fuji 
plotted  his  death!  Great  heavens!  They 
had  killed  him  with  a  black  magic.  And 
there  in  his  own  very  cottage,  under  the 
roof  he  had  raised  with  his  own  hands,  as 
it  were,  to  shelter  her  flower-like  beauty, 
she  was  vowing  her  eternal  and  ever-con 
stant  love  to  his  brother!  And  that,  too, 
with  his  body  wrapped  in  its  shroud  in  the 
very  next  room!  His  fury  raised  him  like 
a  ghost  flame  to  his  feet.  He  would  tear 
out  the  vitals  of  the  unnatural  murderers 
and  traitors  of  his  faith! 

"  Death  can't  divide  us,  my  love! "  the 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  201 

soft  voice  said  again.  So  the  silence  was 
broken  and  the  sobbing  voice  smote  upon 
Mimura's  ears;  and  at  the  same  time  a 
savage  blow  from  an  unseen  hand  struck 
upon  his  naked  heart.  It  felled  him  to  the 
floor. 

At  the  sound  of  the  fall,  the  midnight 
nirvana  of  the  adjoining  room  was  also 
torn  by  two  exclamations — one  masculine 
and  the  other  feminine;  but  which  were  so 
mingled  that  one  would  have  said  that 
they  came  from  one  mouth.  There  was  a 
rush  of  feet,  the  impatient  tearing  aside  of 
the  shoji.  The  prostrate  shroud  was  on  its 
feet  in  an  instant. 

They  rushed  in — Fuji  with  her  bare 
sword,  her  brother-in-law  at  her  heels. 

At  the  sight  of  the  white  apparition, 
they  seemed  to  have  turned  into  stone. 
Then  they  sunk  as  if  they  were  decaying, 
rather  than  melting,  prostrate  upon  the 
floor. 

Before  them  there  stood  a  ghost,  and 
never  in  the  most  horrifying  romance  was 
a  shadow  of  the  dead  so  fiendish.  The 
pale  features  of  Mimura  were  knotted  as 


202  IROKA: 

the  fingers  of  Chaos  in  agony.  Looking 
at  the  fire  in  his  eyes.,  one  would  have  said 
that  hell  opened  two  holes  upon  this 
world.  With  such  a  head  above  the  spec 
tral  whiteness  of  the  loose  robe  of  the  dead, 
who  could  doubt  that  he  was  a  ghost — if 
ever  there  was  one? 

"  Oh,  husband!  Oh,  husband,  mine!  " 
Fuji  cried.  She  had  heard  often  of  the 
dead  coming  back  to  earth  to  call  to  him 
his  companion. 

"  Oh,  husband,  husband!  You  came 
for  me.  Oh,  how  happy  I  am!  I  will  be 
with  you  at  once.  Here,  love,  take  me!  " 

The  keen,  cool  blade  entered  her  throat. 
Fuji  bowed  to  death — with  her  beauty  and 
life  also — in  a  heap  of  gory  kimono. 

But  the  ghost  did  not  see  this. 

Mimura  rushed  upon  his  prostrate 
brother — a  starving  lion  would  have  had 
more  manners  than  this  furious  ghost. 
Seizing  him  by  his  hair,  Mimura  threw  his 
brother  on  his  back.  With  his  right  knee 
upon  his  chest,  and  before  the  hands  of 
the  victim  thought  of  a  struggle,  he  sunk 
his  teeth  into  his  brother's  throat, 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  203 

"Uh!"  Then  all  was  silent— the 
stiffening  of  limbs.  They  tightened  more 
and  more,  his  teeth,  till  finally  they  met 
through  the  flesh  of  his  brother's  throat. 

Then  they  became  rigid. 

A  certain  intensity  of  emotion  always 
snaps  the  life-thread  in  two. 

And  Mimura,,  too,  was  dead. 


A    Dream    on   Suwa-Yama 


A  Dream  on  Suwa-Yama 


Here  I  am  in  a  land  of  bricks,  money, 
and  oaths.  And  if  the  milk  of  human 
kindness  does  by  no  means  flow  in  river 
beds  here,  there  is  surely  no  lack  of  the 
milk  of  cows.  And  the  sun  does  not  have 
any  more  clouds  to  hide  behind,  nor  the 
stars  and  the  moon  any  more  tears  to  shed 
than  they  do  in  any  other  quarter  of  this 
sad  dirt-ball. 

Nevertheless,  Nature  seems  to  take  a 
special  delight  in  reminding  a  fellow  such 
as  I,  homeless  as  a  whim  of  wind,  that  he 
is  a  stranger  here;  that  he  is  an  intruder. 
And  do  what  I  may,  there  will  come  per 
sistently  the  hour  when  my  eyes  will  close, 
not  because  of  any  too  much  light — for 
it  is  very  apt  to  happen  in  the  classic  hour 


208  IROKA: 

of  twilight-pensiveness — and  through  the 
half-closed  eyes  I  am  made  to  see,  not 
the  embodiment  of  the  most  advanced  sci 
entific  theory  of  light,  but  a  rustic  cottage 
which  an  old  pine  tree  used  to  pat  on  its 
shoulder,  grandmother-fashion,  there  on 
the  lap  of  Suwa-Hill,  with  its  checkered 
apron  of  many-coloured  flowers;  by  the 
lake  which  is  called  (most  likely  because  it 
never  disappointed  the  moon  in  giving  her 
the  perfect  silver  image  of  herself  even  on 
a  stormy  night,  so  still  is  it)  the  Mirror 
of  Luna,  and  within  the  sound  of  a  cas 
cade,  that  never-ceasing  dancer  with  the 
bridal  veil  of  mists. 

And  the  cottage  has  a  story. 


II 


Not  very  long  after  the  overthrow  of  the 
Tokugawa  Shogunate,  and  the  removal  of 
the  national  capital  from  Kioto  to  Tokio 
(that  is  to  say,  in  the  early  days  of  our  for 
eign  intercourse),  we  came  to  the  port  of 
Kobe,  and  because  we  had  but  one  request 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  209 

to  make  of  our  fellow-creatures — namely, 
to  be  left  alone  to  enjoy  the  perfect  quie 
tude — we  took  possession  of  an  out-of-the- 
world  cottage  in  the  bosom  of  Suwa-yama 
— my  mother  and  I. 

My  mother,  it  may  make  the  story 
clearer  to  state,  was  a  very  sad  woman. 
In  the  same  battle,  on  the  same  historic 
night,  her  husband  and  her  brother  had 
passed  from  this  earth  leaving  behind  a 
very  gallant  memory — and  that  only. 

The  revolution  came  and  the  change  of 
many  things:  among  others,  the  loss  of  our 
fortune — estate,  treasures,  and  all.  Hav 
ing  none  to  care  for  save  her  son,  with 
nothing  wherewith  to  enjoy  even  the 
ephemeral  pleasures  of  life,  my  mother  pre 
sented  a  traditional  mask  of  samurai  stoi 
cism  against  the  world,  and  abandoned 
herself  without  resistance  to  perpetual  sad 
ness,  loneliness  of  heart,  and  longing  after 
the  spirit  of  the  dead. 

That  she  remained  even  for  a  day  on 
earth  after  the  death  of  my  father  was  a 
great  proof  of  her  love  for  me.  And  an 
other  token  of  her  affection  was  the  great 
14 


210  1RQKA: 

pains  she  took  in  instructing  me  in  the 
graceful  classics  of  our  art-intoxicated  an 
cestors,  and  the  volumes  wherein  the  most 
beautiful,  as  well  as  the  wisest,  fruits  of 
China's  culture  had  been  treasured. 

By  a  mere  accident,  a  kakemono  of  Okyo, 
with  the  picture  of  a  carp  ascending  a  fall 
upon  it,  was  found  at  the  bottom  of  my 
mother's  nagamochi:  and  we  managed  to 
exchange  it  for  a  small  plot  of  land  and  a 
cow — a  bargain  which  must  have  brought 
to  the  shrewd  business  man  at  least  four 
or  five  thousand  yen.  We  did  not  regret 
it.  I,  because  I  did  not  care  for  or  know 
the  value  of  the  picture,  and  loved  the  cow 
and  that  dimple  of  Suwa-yama  which  I 
took  such  a  pleasure  in  cultivating  with 
her;  and  my  mother,  because  a  vigorous 
bud  or  two  of  crimson,  which  the  mountain 
air  and  the  exercise  wooed  to  bloom  on  my 
once  death-pale  cheeks,  were  fairer  to  her 
than  all  the  cherry  blossoms  of  Yoshino. 
And  the  days  came  and  went  to  the  quiet, 
sleepy  music  of  the  belfry  of  a  Buddhist 
temple  which  was  our  nearest  neighbour. 

The  singing  of  the  birds,  the  sighing  of 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  21 1 

the  winds  through  the  pine  needles,  the 
lullabies  of  the  cicadas  in  the  drowsy  hour 
of  summer  and  the  hush  after  the  snow 
had  smothered  everything  to  death — all 
these,  somehow  or  other,  gave  my  mother's 
lips  sweeter  and  more  frequent  smiles. 


Ill 


One  would  have  said  that  she  was  amus 
ing  herself,  if  he  had  watched  my  mother 
clothe  me,  on  my  eighteenth  birthday,  in 
the  ceremonial  robes  of  my  father.  But 
the  truth  is  that  she  was  in  her  most  sol 
emn  mood.  And  although  the  law  of  the 
country  forbade  samurai  to  wear  a  sword 
any  longer,  yet  on  that  morning  she  made 
me  carry  the  two  favourite  swords  of  my 
father.  And  naturally  I  was  the  proudest 
of  mortals;  and  as  for  my  mother,  she  was, 
if  possible,  somewhat  prouder  than  I. 

As  I  was  about  to  step  out  to  greet  the 
sun  in  my  new  dignity,  at  the  very  thresh 
old  of  the  cottage  I  saw  a  stranger,  and  in 
a  second  more,  following  close  behind  her, 


212  IROKA: 

another  who  was  a  greater  stranger  than 
the  first. 

Both  were  ladies.  To  scurry  mouse- 
fashion  was  not  compatible  with  my  kami- 
shimo  and  the  swords;  and  so,,  with  a 
greater  moral  courage  than  any  one  would 
be  willing  to  give  me  credit  for,  I  stood 
my  ground. 

"Pardon  me/'  said  the  stranger,  the 
first  lady.  "We  were  not  aware  upon 
whom  we  were  intruding." 

"Be  good  enough  to  overlook  the 
strange  madness  of  the  humble  one's  at 
tire,"  said  I,  with  the  first  breath  which 
came  to  me,  and  explained  as  briefly  as  I 
could  the  circumstances  of  my  birthday 
and  my  mother's  whim  on  that  occasion. 
The  lady,  who  was  a  Japanese  woman, 
expressed  her  delight  at  what  she  called 
"this  unexpected  pleasure,"  and  asking 
me  to  excuse  her,  she  turned  to  her  com 
panion,  who  was  not  one  of  our  country 
women,  and  spoke  long  with  her.  It  was 
not  hard  reading  from  their  eyes  that  the 
theme  of  their  chat  was  either  myself  or 
our  cottage,  and  seeing  the  brightness  of 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  213 

the  steel-blue  eyes,  and  hearing  the  bird- 
like  notes  of  her  exclamations,  I  marvelled 
much  at  what  interest  she  might  be  able 
to  find  in  a  character  like  me,  in  a  cottage 
like  ours. 

"  We  have  been  wandering/'  explained 
the  Japanese  lady,  who  evidently  was  the 
interpreter  and  companion  of  her  of  the 
sunbeam  locks,  "  for  many,  many  a  day  in 
your  neighbourhood.  What  a  charming 
spot  this  is." 

"We  think  that  Nature  is  especially 
gracious  to  us  here,  even  to  the  point  of 
prodigality." 

"And  you  two,  alone,  the  honourable 
presence  and  your  august  mother,  occupy 
this  cottage?  It  might  as  well  house  five 
or  six  more,  might  it  not  ?  " 

"As  your  honourable  judgment,  the 
cottage  is  quite  too  large  for  us.  Never 
theless,  finding  it  better  so  than  to  have  it 
too  small,  we  try  to  teach  ourselves  not  to 
quarrel  with  the  existing  condition  of 
things." 

And  I  smiled. 

Meanwhile,  I  confess,  I  was  never  so 


214  1ROKA: 

nervous  in  all  my  life  before.  I  felt  that 
the  lovely  eyes  of  the  white  stranger  were 
burning  into  every  inch  of  my  face.  And 
I  could  not  help  thinking  within  myself 
what  a  curious  person  she  must  be.  Still, 
I  justified  her  easily  enough  on  the  ground 
of  my  extraordinary  dress  and  swords. 

The  young  lady  interpreter  turned  away 
from  me  to  her  foreign  companion.  I 
stood  charmed  as  a  cobra  by  the  sound  of 
their  voices — what  a  fascination  there  is 
in  a  voice  whose  utterance  is  beyond  the 
comprehension  of  one's  mind. 

However,  it  was  not  long  before  all  the 
secrets  of  the  magic  tongue  were  mine. 
The  two  ladies  were  very  anxious  to  spend 
some  time  away  from  people,  from  the  wail 
of  the  murdering  civilisation,  in  the  cool 
of  the  mountain  shades,  by  the  silver  rib 
bons  of  runnels.  Would  we  let  them  share 
the  cottage  with  us?  The  food?  Why, 
they  would  attend  to  that  themselves. 

"  Will  you  kindly  call  again  to-morrow? 
Meanwhile,  I  will  consult  the  pleasure  of 
my  mother." 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  215 


IV 

I  talked  with  my  mother  about  it. 
There  must  have  been  something  in  my 
tone,  for  there  came  a  sad  smile  upon  her 
lips — half  playful,  half  reproachful,  and 
which  seemed  to  say,  "  Are  you  not  satis 
fied  with  your  mother? "  As  I  became 
more  and  more  enthusiastic  in  my  talk, 
that  smile  opened  reluctantly — much  after 
the  manner  of  an  orchid  bloom  which, 
under  the  coaxing  caresses  of  a  warm  and 
glad  spring  breeze,  blossoms  out  from  the 
mosses  of  the  time-pensive  grey  of  the 
rocks.  And,  when  you  come  to  think 
about  it,  there  was  nothing  so  very  strange 
in  it  all.  I  knew  my  mother  well;  but  she 
was  the  only  woman  who  was  known  to  me, 
and  as  for  the  great  world,  whistling, 
laughing,  whining,  and  cursing  about  me, 
I  knew  nothing  of  it.  And  you  will  not 
blame  me  if  for  months  and  months  I 
never  could  run  away  from  the  idea  that 
the  young  lady  with  the  face  of  the  colour 
of  dawn,  and,  like  it,  soft,  dreamy,  chaste, 


2l6  IROKA: 

with  the  dainty  bits  of  southern  sky  for  her 
eyes  and  an  aureole  for  her  hair,  must  have 
rained  from  some  happy  cloud  for  the  edi 
fication  and  comfort  of  us  all — she  must 
have  been  sent  to  us,  mother  and  me, 
through  the  mercy  of  the  gods.  And  the 
thought  made  me  happy  more  than  I  can 
tell.  For  we  have  prayed  often.  And  of 
all  the  pleasures  of  earth  there  is  none, 
perhaps,  so  complete  as  that  which  comes 
from  the  assurance  that  our  prayers  are 
heard  and  approved  by  the  Divine.  For 
it  at  once  proves  the  existence  of  the  gods; 
the  gracious  goodness  and  sweetness  of 
their  nature;  the  tender  love  of  the  Divine 
toward  the  human,  and  the  oneness — in 
that  we  could  make  our  feelings  felt  by 
Him — of  the  Great  Eternal  and  man;  and 
that  this  ridiculous  atom  of  dirt  is,  after 
all,  a  god  playing  a  fool.  And  in  all  can 
dour,  are  these  not,  when  you  sift  the 
matter  to  its  heart,  the  great  corner-stone 
upon  which  the  edifice  of  human  happi 
ness  is  reared? 


TALES    OF    JAPAN  217 


My  mother,  I  well  knew,  would  suffer 
and  bear  almost  all  the  known  and  un 
known  things  for  my  sake — to  make  me 
happy.  For  me  she  would  have  stepped 
down  into  Hades  with  the  sweetest  of 
smiles.  With  all  that  I  had  much  of  mis 
giving  about  the  coming  of  the  ladies  to 
live  with  us. 

My  mother  was  of  the  race  that  knew 
the  foreigners  as  "  red-bearded  barba 
rians,"  and  so  proud  were  they  of  the  older 
Japan  that  they  would  sooner,  very  much 
sooner,  have  committed  hara-kiri  than  to 
pollute,  as  they  thought,  body  and  soul 
by  social  contact  with  the  foreigner.  At 
the  same  time  I  was  not  completely  de 
serted  by  Hope.  For,  indeed,  was  I  not 
myself  reared  on  the  very  milk  of  the  con 
servative  Japan?  Had  I  ever  heard  a 
single  favourable  word  about  the  white 
stranger?  Never.  And  yet  had  I  not 
felt  such  a  melting  affinity  toward  her; 
had  not  my  eyes  forgot  that  the  visible 


218  1ROKA: 

universe  was  not  quite  comprehended  by 
the  graceful  lines  of  her  figure  and  fea 
tures?  If  it  was  so  with  me,  why  not  with 
my  mother?  And  then,  too,  there  seemed 
no  trace  of  anger  upon  her  when  I  had 
mentioned  the  matter,  and  that  faint  smile 
of  hers! 

The  young  lady  interpreter  came  the 
next  day;  and  as  she  wished  to  see  my 
mother  alone,  I  left  them  together  and 
went  out  to  plough. 

On  my  way  home  from  the  field  I 
thought  that  I  heard  some  one  calling  my 
name.  Turning  round  I  saw  a  white  hand 
winnowing  the  sun-bright  air. 

"  We  will  see  you  to-morrow  morning, 
Narumi-san." 

And  I  saw  standing,  framed  in  a  patch 
of  yellow  rape,  the  figure  of  the  inter 
preter. 

At  home:  "I  gave  my  consent  to  the 
ladies.  Is  it  agreeable  with  you,  Masao  ?  " 
my  mother  said  to  me. 

That  night,  after  our  evening  meal,  as 
we  sat  by  the  hearth  and  watched  many 
marvellous  mystic  pictures  which  the 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  219 

flame  rising  and  falling  limned  on  the 
crepuscular  canvas  of  the  room,  my 
mother  told  me  the  brief  story  of  the 
white  stranger,  as  she  had  heard  from 
the  interpreter. 


VI 

She  was  a  daughter  of  America — a  Vir 
ginian  by  birth.  She  was  very  unhappy. 
Under  other  circumstances  she  might  have 
been  famous.  For  her  unhappiness  came 
from  the  ardent  adoration  of  the  beautiful 
— that  was  her  God.  Like  a  female  Co 
lumbus,  and  of  a  far  higher  and  more  dar 
ing  ambition,  she  launched  out  on  her 
voyage  of  discovery — she  would  find  her 
God!  Life  was  kind  to  her.  Wealth, 
beauty,  health,  liberty  were  all  hers.  And 
there  she  was  in  Japan,  still  on  her  pil 
grimage,  after  having  worshipped  at  the 
shrines  of  the  European  masters.  She  had 
been  in  Japan  already  for  one  year  and  a 
half,  wandering  about  from  a  temple  to  a 
palace;  from  a  godown  to  a  castle,  and  all 
the  while  calling  back  to  life,  with  the 


220  IROKA: 

magic  touch  of  her  idolatrous  fire  for  art, 
a  piece  of  brown  parchment,  a  fragment  of 
a  fusuma,  a  broken  cornice,  a  tattered 
kakemono,  a  mutilated  image,  a  torn  wall 
upon  which  laboured  our  ancestors,  who 
had  forgot  meat  and  raiment  for  a  brush 
or  a  chisel  and  who  had  deemed  it  the  wis 
est  thing  on  earth  to  condense  the  life  of 
fifty  years  within  a  compass  of  a  few  feet. 
At  last  this  lady  who  was  so  hard  to  please 
found  something — or  rather  a  vision  was 
born  within  her — or  to  quote  her  own 
words,  "  a  star  fell  into  my  dream  as  it  had 
fallen  into  that  of  the  Blessed  Maya,  who 
had  given  birth  to  Gotama  Buddha."  She 
would  give  colour  and  form  to  this,  her 
dream.  Like  the  swordsmiths  of  Japan, 
who  used  to  purify  with  complex  cere 
monies  their  workshops  as  well  as  them 
selves  before  addressing  themselves  to  the 
sacred  work,  she  would  bury  herself  in  this 
kindly  temple  of  Nature;  in  this  solitary 
cottage  with  us;  in  the  studio  whose  screens 
are  green  hills  and  whose  flower-carpeted 
floor  is  seamed  by  the  mountain  rills. 
Her  name  was  Viola  Kandolph. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  221 


VII 

Miss  Eandolph  and  her  companion, 
whose  name  was  Sakabe  Toki,  came  into 
our  cottage,  and  it  became,  to  all  appear 
ances,  the  tryst  of  summer  and  winter.  I 
mean  this:  In  the  rooms  of  my  mother, 
there  was  that  severe  simplicity  of  elder 
Japan;  in  the  apartments  of  our  friends 
every  inch  of  the  wall,  aye,  the  very  ceil 
ing,  was  covered  with  pictures,  objets 
d'art  gathered  from  all  over  the  world, 
with  colours  that  were  a  defiance  to  the 
brightness  of  the  sun.  Two  extremes 
were  thus  brought  together,  and  the  effect 
of  the  contrast  was  startling. 

"What  do  you  think  of  their  rooms?  " 
I  asked  of  my  mother.  And,  to  confess 
the  truth,  I  expected  her  to  say  something 
complimentary,  but  which  would,  in  real 
ity,  mean  that  it  was  as  rich  as  a  curio 
shop. 

"  It  is  very  marvellous,"  she  said,  with 
a  ring  of  sincerity  in  her  voice.  "  I  won- 


222  IROKA: 

der  if  it  is  her  own  character  which  she 
has  tesselated  in  that  medley  of  colours 
and  things?  Her  room  impressed  me  as 
a  person — a  strong,  passionate,  delicate 
character — which  is  mad  because  it  cannot 
express  itself  freely,  naturally.  Above  all, 
her  room  as  it  is,  is  not  a  thing!  " 

This,  coming  from  my  mother,  was  a 
compliment  which  I  certainly  did  not 
dream  any  mortal  could  deserve. 

My  mother  took  a  trip  of  discovery  into 
the  bottom  of  her  nagamocJii — a  long 
trunk — and  out  of  many  rolls  of  kake 
mono,  she  took  one. 

"  Take  this  to  Miss  Kandolph,  and  pre 
sent  it  with  the  sincere  esteem  of  your 
mother/' 


VIII 

The  moon  was  white  one  night,  and  the 
path  climbing  the  hill  in  front  of  our 
cottage  was  silver.  I  was  returning  home 
with  a  bunch  of  flowers — night  blooms, 
whose  eyes  are  too  modest  for  the  glare  of 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  223 

the  sun,  so  that  to  see  them  wake  one  has 
to  go  to  the  cliff  with  the  fall  of  the  dews. 

And  I  came  upon  her  seated  on  a  moss- 
cushioned  rock;  she  was  looking  into  the 
lake.  "Upon  it  many  a  pale  hieroglyphic 
was  thrown  down  from  the  stars  and  the 
moon.  And  she,  like  a  prophetess,  seemed 
to  be  reading  the  mystic  message.  I  stood 
still,  mute  as  a  devotee  before  a  goddess. 
How  I  would  have  loved  to  offer  the 
bunch  of  flowers  and — a  prayer.  But,  of 
course,  I  could  not  speak  a  word  of  Eng 
lish,  and  I  was  ignorant  as  to  the  extent  of 
her  knowledge  in  the  Japanese.  Still  had 
I  the  daring  (curse  my  timidity!)  we  might 
have  managed  to  make  ourselves  under 
stood.  Then  an  idea  came  to  me.  Let 
me  resort  to  the  speech  of  the  eyes. 

"  Miss  Kandolph,"  said  I,  with  a  voice 
as  slender  and  tremulous  as  the  rill  pour 
ing  its  silver  threads  into  the  lake. 

She  started  nervously,  turned  round, 
and,  when  she  recognised  me,  smiled 
gently  at  me. 

"  A  beautiful  evening,  sir,"  said  she  in 
Japanese.  I  meant  to  hold  out  the  flow- 


224  IROKA: 

ers.  But  all  of  a  sudden  I  forgot  it  com 
pletely  as  I  saw  her  face. 

Silence — incomprehensible  delirium. 

I  stammered  out  something  in  Japanese, 
and,  suddenly  remembering  my  flowers,  I 
offered  them  to  her. 

"  Thank  you — such  beautiful  flowers!  " 


IX 


After  that,  there  was — it  might  have 
been  all  my  fancy — a  strange  light  in  her 
eyes.  And  whenever  my  gaze  met  hers, 
my  eyes  always  dropped  to  the  floor,  and 
untimely  maple  leaves  spread  themselves 
on  my  cheeks. 


Half  a  year  had  passed  since  the  ladies 
came  to  bloom  under  our  cottage  roof. 
One  fine  morning  I  was  starting  out  to 
gather  a  bundle  of  fagots. 

"  Wait,  I  will  go  with  you,"  she  called 
from  the  veranda. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  225 

Under  the  shade  of  a  pine  I  gathered  a 
cushion  of  pine  needles  for  her  to  sit  down 
and  rest  while  I  gathered  my  dry  branches. 

"  How  I  love  this  life!  I  wish  I  could 
live  this  way  all  my  days!  " 

"  And  if  you  would  let  me  be  by  your 
side,,  I  would  be  the  happiest  boy  you  ever 
saw! "  I  said.  No,  upon  my  word,  I  had 
no  esoteric  meaning  to  my  words.  She 
turned  her  eyes  quickly  toward  me,  and 
the  single  glance  changed  the  meaning  of 
my  simple  sentence  completely.  I  saw 
the  change,  and,  instead  of  protesting 
against  it  with  my  original,  innocent  look, 
I  acted  quite  the  contrary. 

A  second,  and  a  very  short  one,  too;  in 
a  flash — how  rapidly,  without  the  slightest 
warning,  does  the  entire  universe  shift  for 
a  man! 

I  might  have  laid  my  hand,  all  in  a  tre 
mor,  upon  her  arm;  I  might  have  turned 
my  face,  burning  with  colour  like  a  sunset, 
upon  her;  I  might  have  gone  so  far  as  to 
purse  my  lips  a  little,  to  squeeze  all  the 
dreams  of  my  life  into  my  eyes — I  do  not 
know. 

15 


226  IROKA: 

What  I  am  certain  of  is  that  I  found 
myself  at  her  feet.  She  was  looking  into 
my  eyes  as  if  they  were  a  pair  of  very, 
very  deep  wells,  and  as  if  she  were  reading 
something  at  the  bottom  of  them. 

Something  like  pity  came  into  her  face 
— a  faint  smile. 

"  Let  us  go  home;  have  you  gathered 
your  fagots?  " 

I,  of  course,  had  forgotten  them  alto 
gether. 


XI 


I  did  not  see  her  again  that  day. 

The  next  morning  my  mother  told  me 
that  our  guests  were  going  to  leave  us  that 
self-same  day.  She  did  not  seem  to  be 
surprised  at  its  suddenness.  At  the  news 
I  hid  my  face — forgetting  that  the  face  is 
not  the  only  mirror  of  man's  emotions. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  great  pity — it  grieves  me 
very  much,"  said  my  mother  kindly,  as  if 
she  wanted  to  soothe  me.  "  We  became 
very  much  attached  to  them  and  it  is  very 
hard  to  give  them  up.  But  as  the  Lord 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  227 

Buddha  says:  CA  separation  for  every 
meeting/  " 

There  were  reasons  why  I  could  not 
take  it  as  philosophically  as  my  mother. 
In  truth  I  had  all  I  could  do  to  keep  my 
emotions  from  betraying  me. 

As  soon  as  I  could  tear  myself  away 
from  my  mother  I  ran  to  the  hill,  whose 
calm,  like  the  benediction  from  His  very 
hands,  had  comforted  me  so  often. 

There,  under  the  elder  pine,  was  the 
cushion  of  pine  needles  which  I  had  gath 
ered  for  her  and  upon  which  she  had  sat. 
It  retained  the  impression  of  her  body, 
and  that  of  my  knees  there,  too,  at  her 
feet. 

"I  will  build  a  shrine  here,"  said  I  to 
myself. 

XII 

When  I  went  home  I  found  Miss  Ean- 
dolph  gone. 

"  Here  is  something  which  she  wanted 
me  to  give  to  you,"  said  her  lady  com 
panion  to  me.  It  was  a  pen  sketch  of  a 


228  IROKA:    TALES    OF   JAPAN 

face — a  beautiful  girl  face.  It  was  very 
easy  to  see  that  the  face  was  asking  the 
question:  "  What  can  I  do?  "  and  under  it 
was  this  strange  word,  "  Perhaps." 

On  the  back  of  the  picture  was  this  sen 
tence  in  English : 

"When  you  are  ready,  look  me  up  in 
California  and  we  will  talk  over  the  old 
times  together/' 

This  was  now  seven  years  ago. 


In  the  Old  Castle  Moat  of 
Kameyama 


In  the  Old  Castle  Moat  of 
Kameyama 


It  is  aged,  that  castle  moat,,  covered  now 
with  lotus,  white,  red,  all  of  golden  hearts 
and  very  fond  of  holding  up  the  dews,  on 
summer  mornings,  toward  the  sun,  that 
he  may  turn  them  into  diamonds. 

Fishing  has  an  intoxication  all  its  own; 
the  wine  knows  nothing  of  it.  The  strain 
on  the  line — ah!  upon  my  honour  it  turns 
my  nerves  into  so  many  samisen  strings 
full  of  charming  confusions.  Berabo !  the 
dance  of  a  two-foot  carp  on  your  hook 
sends  a  great  big  shooting  star  through 
you — the  white-teethed  grin,  cold  sweat, 
and  the  eyes  so  full  of  anxiety  that  one 
might  say  of  them  that  they  were  gazing 


2^2  1ROKA: 

at  a  dying  lover!  Ah,  yes,  exactly!  And 
it  is  not  within  the  horizon  of  the  piety  of 
a  youngster  (and  I  dare  say  that  it  would 
make  but  little  difference  if  he  be  a  scion 
of  a  starched  Puritan)  to  refrain  from  the 
murder  of  the  cold-blooded  brethren  of 
the  water. 

The  castle  moat  has  many  reverend 
memories.  We  boys  knew  of  them;  we 
also  were  taught  to  respect  them,  like  de 
cent  offsprings  of  samurai.  What  would 
you?  You  cannot  make  a  saint  of  a  tot 
in  the  same  easy  way  in  which  you  can  peel 
black  potatoes  white.  And  our  fathers 
and  grandfathers  saw  our  fishing  lines 
spreading  the  delicate  comb-webs  of  rip 
ples  on  the  nirvanic  face  of  the  lotus- 
decked  moat  a  trifle  too  often  to  be  com 
fortable  for  us. 

"You  must  not  do  that,  child/'  my 
grandfather  used  to  say  kindly;  "  never  in 
the  castle  moat.  Haven't  you  seen  the 
white  catfish  with  a  chisel  in  its  mouth?  " 

"  A  white  catfish,  august  grandfather?  " 

Ah,  well!  we  knew  all  about  it — we  in 
deed  ought  to  have  known  it,  seeing  that 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  233 

we  had  heard  the  same  story  told  us  some 
few  thousand  times  over  again.  Neverthe 
less  there  was  one  thing  strange  about  it 
all — we  never  became  tired  of  that  story. 
Having  heard  it  a  thousand  times,,  we 
wanted  to  hear  it  once  more. 

"  Yes,  child,  haven't  you  heard  of  the 
white  catfish  in  the  castle  moat?  No? 
Well,  well! " 

I,  of  course,  took  advantage  of  the  short 
memory  of  my  grandsire,  and,  sad  wretch 
that  I  was!  felt  no  shame  at  all. 

And  this  is  the  story.  With  this  differ 
ence — my  grandsire  was  a  good  story 
teller,  and  there  is  that  in  me  that  makes 
me  dreadfully  sceptical  of  the  wonderful 
doctrine  of  heredity. 


II 


Dusk  was  falling  on  the  summer-kissed 
flowers  of  Kameyama  savannah.  And 
with  it  there  came  into  the  town,  as  if  he 
fell  straight  out  of  the  blue  matrix  of  sun 
shine,  a  stranger  in  rags,  rather  young  and 


IROKA: 

with  features  and  carriage  which  were 
much  at  war  with  his  coarse  robe  and  men 
dicant  hat. 

"  Yes,  Prince  Akechi  is  about  to  build 
a  castle/'  an  accommodating  citizen,  proud 
of  the  new  dignity  of  the  town,  told  the 
stranger. 

"Kindly  condescend  to  point  out  the 
way  to  the  palace  of  the  august  prince." 

"  Through  the  avenue  of  pines,"  said 
the  citizen,  pointing  ahead. 

At  the  palace  entrance: 

"  The  august  prince  does  not  receive  all 
strangers,  you  must  understand,"  said  the 
gatekeeper  kindly.  He  meant  that  the 
palace  was  no  place  for  such  as  he. 

"  The  humble  one  is  by  profession  and 
by  the  gracious  shadows  of  the  august 
above,  a  worker  in  rocks,  plaster,  and 
woods.  A  castle  is  built  already  in  my 
mind.  For  the  sake  of  the  unworthy  one, 
condescend  to  tell  the  august  prince  that 
nothing  is  lacking  but  some  rocks  and 
wood  to  make  the  sun  happy  in  smiling 
upon  a  castle  that  would  laugh  at  its 


TALES    OF  JAPAN  235 

The  gatekeeper  listened.  Most  cer 
tainly  the  stranger  did  not  talk  after  the 
manner  of  beggars.  Prince  Akechi  Mit- 
suhide,  his  lord  and  master,  had  just  seen 
one  of  the  daring  dreams  of  his  imagina 
tion,  phoenix-winged  as  it  was,  turned  into 
a  chapter  of  history.  His  name  wedded 
fame  as  the  tactician  of  Nobunaga.  He 
had  brain;  of  that  he  was  sure.  And  in 
asmuch  as  he  did  not  see  any  wisdom  in 
being  a  second  in  the  eyes  of  Heaven  and 
his  Majesty,  the  Ten-Shi  (which,  by  inter 
pretation,  means  the  Son  of  Heaven),  when 
he  could  be — aye,  should  be — the  first,  he 
dreamed  a  dream.  One  thing  above  all 
was  needed — a  formidable,  an  unassailable 
castle.  He  would  have  it  at  any  cost. 
And  it  was  noised  abroad  throughout  the 
provinces  that  Prince  Akechi,  the  brain  of 
Nobunaga's  camp,  would  stint  neither 
wealth,  rank,  nor  honours  to  him  who 
would  give  him  a  masterpiece  of  a  castle 
which  would,  under  a  kindly  smile  of  for 
tune,  turn  into  a  cradle  of  that  daring 
dream  of  his. 

"  Master,"   said   Prince   Akechi,   when 


236  IROKA: 

the  beggar-architect  stood  before  him, 
"  pray  condescend  to  tell  me  what  are  the 
elements  that  are  essential  to  a  good 
castle." 

"  That  it  should  look  into  the  eyes  of 
its  enemies  and  tell  them  what  ridiculous 
idiots  they  are,"  said  the  stranger.  "  And 
it  must  also  have  that  which  will  make 
itself  the  beloved  of  the  gods." 

"  Akechi  Mitsuhide  would  humbly  lis 
ten,"  said  the  prince,  "  to  the  master,  if  he 
would  paint  to  the  humble  one  the  castle 
which  is  in  his  mind." 

After  an  interview  of  the  length  of  two 
drums,  the  prince  said  to  the  beggar-archi 
tect:  "  Master,  the  force  of  ten  thousand 
picked  workmen  and  the  resources  of  five 
mountains  and  of  the  entire  province  are 
at  your  command." 


Ill 

To-day  the  travellers  who  have  stood  on 
the  Pyramids  come  often  to  the  Castle 
Town  of  Kameyama,  and  when  we  tell 
them  that  the  rocks  thev  see  in  the  ruin  of 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  237 

the  castle  were  brought  down  from  the  top 
of  Atago  Mountain  they  smile  at  us  and 
look  very  smart,  and  their  eyes  take  unto 
themselves  an  air,  very  superior,,  and  as 
though  they  were  resting  on  credulous 
idiots.  And  when  we  venture  to  tell  them 
a  simple  fact — namely,  that  some  of  those 
huge  stones  were  fifty  feet  high  on  the  top 
layer  of  the  castle  wall,  they  become  very 
frank  in  their  laughter,  and  the  twinkle  of 
their  eyes  makes  no  secret  of  a  defiant  dec 
laration,  "  What  do  you  take  us  for?  " 

Modern  sciences  are  very  proud;  they 
have  many  complicated  machines.  Our 
forefathers  had  none  of  them.  And  they 
worked  what  the  sciences  of  the  day  label 
as  miracles. 

Well,  out  of  the  blue  surface  of  the 
moats,  very  placid,  full  of  religious  flowers, 
the  granite  walls  of  the  castle  rose,  con 
cave  in  shape,  like  an  arm  of  a  huge  grey 
crescent — quite  impossible  for  mortals  to 
scale.  And  the  castle  also  rose. 

Nor  did  the  din  of  work  go  to  bed  with 
the  sun,  but  through  all  the  stretch  of  the 
dark  echoed  from  star  to  star  till  it  woke 


238  1ROKA: 

Dawn  and  forced  her  to  listen.  It  rose 
like  an  altar  full  of  the  aspirations  of 
earth,  full  also  of  the  ambitious  prayers 
of  mortals — it  rose  steadily,  the  castle. 

Thrice  Atago  Mountain  donned  its 
white,  priestly  robe  to  go  through  its  pe 
riod  of  purification  at  the  birth  of  New 
Year's,  and  at  last  the  dream  of  the  beg 
gar-architect  stood,  dressed  in  rocks  and 
iron,  very  much  taller  than  the  pines  two 
centuries  old,  so  that  the  sun,  after  forsak 
ing  all  hill-tops,  still  kept  his  bright  arms 
around  the  turret,  sinking  reluctantly,  re 
minding  you  of  a  golden-haired  girl  kiss 
ing  her  lover  good-night.  The  sight  made 
Prince  Akechi  wild  indeed.  He  looked  at 
it  as  if  he  had  never  watched  it  before;  ut 
terly,  as  it  seemed,  forgetting  that  he  had 
risen  seven  times  many  a  night  just  to  spy, 
between  and  through  the  sombre  arms  of 
pines  and  cedars,  the  moon  playing  with 
the  edifice. 

The  preparations  to  celebrate  the  com 
pletion  of  the  castle  had  been  going  on  for 
over  a  year. 

It  was  a  kindly  day,  white  with  autumn 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  239 

frost,  when  they  put  the  last  tile  on  the 
topmost  roof,  and  the  very  next  day  was 
set  for  the  celebration. 

In  the  garden  opposite  the  grand  en 
trance  of  the  castle  they  built  a  dais.  And 
nothing  was  lacking  on  the  day  of  the 
crowning  of  the  labours  of  the  beggar- 
architect  to  make  it  as  dramatic  as  pos 
sible. 

Amid  the  whiteness  of  intense  emotion, 
Prince  Akechi  sat  on  his  dais,  simply  clad 
in  his  ceremonial  robe.  Below  the  dais, 
extending  toward  the  entrance  of  the  cas 
tle,  was  an  avenue,  so  to  speak,  of  his 
ministers;  about  them,  under  the  clear 
autumnal  sky,  on  the  thick,  padded  mats 
and  silk  cushions,  sat  the  entire  retinue 
of  samurai. 

The  faint,  woman-like  suggestion  of  the 
scent  of  sazankwa  (Camellia  sasanqua)  was 
in  the  air.  A  silence,  which  seems  to  be 
an  inseparable  companion  of  a  grand  spec 
tacle,  sat  among  the  spectators  also. 

All  of  a  sudden: 

"  The  builder  of  the  castle! "  was  an 
nounced. 


240  IROKA: 

And  the  proud  samurai  bowed  their 
heads. 

He  walked  up  the  avenue  of  ministers — 
the  architect,  dressed  precisely  as  he  had 
been  when  he  entered  the  town  of  Kame- 
yama  for  the  first  time,  in  rags  which  had 
evidently  had  more  history  than  comeli 
ness.  A  palace  minister  escorted  him  to 
the  dais  of  the  prince.  It  was  not  cus 
tomary  for  a  prince  to  rise  to  his  feet. 
Prince  Akechi  rose.  The  man  in  rags,  as 
was  the  custom  of  the  day,  prostrated  him 
self.  The  prince  said  to  him  gently, 
"  Eise,  my  master." 

And  the  architect  obeyed.  So  they 
stood  face  to  face — the  prince  and  the 
builder  of  the  castle.  The  prince  caught 
his  friend,  the  architect,  by  his  arm, 
as  if  the  rags  and  purple  were  equal 
in  rank,  and,  pointing  to  the  castle,  he 
said: 

"  Behold  your  work,"  (and  minding  but 
little  the  extravagance  of  his  words,)  "  the 
pride  of  heaven  and  earth  and  my  humble 
heart." 

Silence. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  241 

"Ye  gods! "  and  the  lips  of  the  archi 
tect  quivered.  The  despair  in  that  ex 
clamation  paralysed  the  prince.  He  did 
not  understand.  The  architect  started  to 
ward  the  castle:  the  prince  held  him  back 
— a  groan  was  heard. 

"Pray/'  said  the  prince,,  "what  is 
wrong?  Speak! " 

"  Behold,  august  prince,  the  castle  leans 
toward  the  rise  of  the  sun!  " 

There  was  silence,  a  revelation,  a  tri 
umph  in  that  brief  second  that  passed. 

"  Ah,  my  master,  it  is  superb!  The 
castle  points  to  the  home  of  my  star!  Joy 
supreme!  "  The  prince  looked  toward  the 
morning,  toward  Atago  Mountain,  and 
a  very  peculiar  light  came  into  his  eyes. 
Some  of  his  most  intimate  counsellors  saw 
it;  they,  and  they  alone,  understood  the 
meaning  of  it.  Nobunaga  was  at  Kioto, 
beyond  the  mountain,  toward  the  rise  of 
the  sun. 

"  Down  with  the  castle!  "  was  the  stern 
retort  of  the  builder. 

"  Silence!  I  forbid — I  command  you 
."  Prince  Akechi,  as  you  see,  was 
16 


242  IROKA: 

not  such  a  great  master  of  his  own  temper 
as  he  was  of  military  tactics.  The  archi 
tect  smiled — full  of  sarcasm,  more  full  of 
amusement.  Said  he: 

"  August  prince  has  entrusted  into  my 
hand  the  entire  power  over  the  new-built 
castle/' 

"  But  I  command  you.  See  how  per 
fect  it  is — the  castle!  It  is  the  supreme 
content  of  my  heart!  Perfect!  The  gods 
made  its  head  point  to " 

The  architect,  musingly,  doubtless  look 
ing  into  his  own  heart,  as  a  man  in  a 
dream,  all  absent  minded,  slipped  from 
the  grasp  of  the  prince  and  walked  away. 

"  Stop  —  hold  !  Master,  stop  !  "  the 
prince  called  after  him;  but  the  man  in 
rags  was  as  indifferent  as  Fate. 

Of  course  the  castle  came  down  very 
much  faster  than  it  went  up,  and  indeed 
on  its  second  journey  upward  its  steps 
were  surer  and  quicker  on  the  ladder  of 
clouds. 

Prince  Akechi  stormed  with  rage  a 
while,  and  then,  seeing  that  he  was  dealing 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  243 

with  a  man  half  mystery,  half  divine,  whose 
every  action  was  a  defiance  against  the 
command  of  a  mere  mortal,  abandoned  his 
struggle. 


IV 

About  two  years  later  the  Kameyama 
palace  received  a  strange  guest.  The  in 
troducer  of  noble  guests  announced  in  the 
hall  of  audience :  "  Princess  of  Yechigo 
passes  into  the  hall! "  And  Prince  Ak- 
echi  received  the  wife  of  one  of  the  most 
powerful  princes  of  the  North.  Her 
daughter  was  with  the  princess. 

"  What  an  unexpected  honour  and  plea 
sure!  Really,  such  kindness  of  the  gods 
encourages  the  humble  one  to  be  pious — 
believe  me,  madam." 

"  The  humble  one  is  very  happy  to  pre 
sent  the  compliments  of  the  clan  of  Yech 
igo  to  the  first  warrior  of  the  realm  and— 
as  she  is  told — the  brain  of  Nbbunaga's 
camp.  And  the  unworthy  one  counts  her 
self  fortunate  to  worship,  for  the  first  time, 
your  august  face.  For  some  men  are  like 


244  1RQKA: 

the  gods — their  names  are  so  familiar, 
their  faces  are  rarely  seen." 

Prince  Akechi  was  a  thorough  diplo 
mat — nothing  escaped  him.  Neverthe 
less,  he  was  unable  to  fathom  the  mission 
of  the  princely  lady,  and  the  eloquent  con 
versation  gave  a  bit  of  fine  literature  to 
the  Book  kept,  as  they  say,  somewhere  by 
the  recording  angel. 

"  Sire,  it  is  an  affair  of  the  heart,  not 
of  State,  that  has  brought  the  humble  one 
to  your  august  presence." 

Prince  Akechi  frowned. 

"  Prince  of  Yechigo,  my  humble  con 
sort — you  are  aware  of  his  disappearance 
some  five  years  ago,  are  you  not?  He  left 
behind  him  only  the  trace  of  the  cloud. 
Murder  was  suspected — many  other  possi 
bilities.  The  search  and  the  waiting! 
Details  are  tedious,  prince.  All  of  a  sud 
den  news  reached  me  that  the  Prince  of 
Yechigo  is  now  among  the  builders  of  the 
august  castle/7 

His  eyebrows  rose  a  little;  his  eyes  nar 
rowed. 

"  Ha!     Your  humble  servant  is  enlight- 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  245 

ened!  "  he  said.  "  Allow  me  to  summon 
your  august  consort  at  once! " 

"  Oh,"  said  she,  with  something  of  ner 
vous  shock,  quite  unbecoming  to  her  dig 
nity,  "my  lord  must  never  know  of  my 
presence  here — never  should  he  suspect  it 
— till  the  work  is  done;  till " 

The  change  of  colour,  as  well  as  the  con 
fusion  of  her  handsome  features,  told  a 
story,  unintelligible  to  Prince  Akechi;  not 
at  all  a  strange  one,  however,  and  which 
could  be  stated  briefly. 

Through  all  her  married  life,  the  prin 
cess  had  always  opposed  the  artistic  mania 
of  her  husband,  and  as  so  many  men  of 
genius  fuming  under  domestic  tyranny  had 
done  before  him,  he  simply  bolted — that 
was  all.  With  all  that,  the  simple  story 
was  a  tragedy.  And  the  reason  of  it  all 
was  because  she  was  madly  in  love  with  her 
husband,  and,  like  so  many  other  women 
of  her  rank,  of  imagination  and  of  mental 
force,  she  was  very  ambitious  for  him. 
She  relied  upon  the  charms  of  her  personal 
beauty,  upon  her  wit,  upon  the  strength 
of  the  chain  called  social  usages,  and  felt, 


246  IROKA: 

unhappy  lady!  quite  equal  to  the  task  of 
directing  the  course  of  his  life.  A  rough 
awakening! 

"  As  for  that/'  said  Prince  Akechi, 
"  the  new  castle  has  been  completed." 

"Completed!" 

"  In  fact  it  was  finished  some  days  ago; 
but,  yielding  to  the  pleasure  of  my  archi 
tect.,  I  have  placed  the  day  of  celebration 
three  days  hence — the  day  of  good  omen. 
Madam  will  see  her  lord,,  then,  on  that  day 
of  his  triumph.  And  her  humble  servant 
begs  for  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  the 
happy  reunion  of  her  highness  and  the 
august  Prince  of  Yechigo!  " 


Of  the  body  of  the  beggar-architect 
there  remained  only  a  heap  of  sallow  ashes; 
a  strange  fire  called  fever  had  burnt  it.  In 
place  of  his  will  and  nerves  of  the  strength 
of  iron  there  was  only  weariness  and — an 
unearthly  thrill. 

After  the  completion  of  the  castle,  he 
would  wait  ten  days  at  least  to  see  if  this 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  247 

time  the  edifice  would  hold  its  head  erect. 
Because  his  almost  wrecked  frame  could 
not  stand  the  strain  of  watching  the  castle 
through  the  ten  days,  he  was  carried  away 
to  a  summer  palace  in  the  mountain.  It 
was  agreed  that  he  should  be  conducted 
back  blindfolded  to  the  top  of  the  south 
ern  wall.  That  was  the  spot  where  they 
would  put  the  dais  of  the  prince  v,n  the 
day  of  celebration.  There  one  could  look 
down  into  the  moat  and  at  the  same  time 
he  could  command  a  more  perfect  view  of 
the  castle  than  from  any  other  point. 

The  day  was  superb — this  day  of  second 
celebration. 

And  the  samurais,  as  on  the  first  occa 
sion.,  were  present  in  all  their  ceremonial 
elegance. 

And  the  castle?  None  could  tell  how 
or  when;  but,  as  before,  it  made  no  secret 
of  its  longing  for  the  break  of  day.  Prince 
Akechi  knew  of  it.  He  had  a  scheme  in 
his  head  as  well.  He  would  have  his  archi 
tect  led  to  the  top  of  the  wall  blindfolded, 
in  front  of  his  dais;  he  would  tear  off  the 
bandage  with  his  own  hand,  and,  in  the 


248  IROKA: 

sudden  blaze  of  light,  in  the  bewilderment 
of  revelation,  he  would  try  somehow  to 
cheat  the  acute  perceptions  of  the  archi 
tect.  Moreover,  he  relied  much  upon  that 
dramatic  excitement  of  delivering  the 
Prince  of  Yechigo  into  the  embraces  of 
his  wife  and  daughter  as  the  supreme  re 
ward  of  his  labours!  He,  who  knew  noth 
ing  of  the  inner  history  of  the  Prince  of 
Yechigo,  was  also  ignorant  what  a  mon 
strous  piece  of  irony  that  sort  of  reward 
would  be  in  the  hand  of  the  beggar-archi 
tect.  The  rest  he  left,  as  all  the  happy 
people  are  wont  to  do,  to  Fate. 

He  was  there  in  front  of  the  dais,  blind 
folded,  on  the  top  of  the  wall  overlooking 
the  moat — the  builder  of  the  castle,  the 
princely  artist  in  rags.  The  castle  stood 
to  his  right,  with  its  head  heavily  pillowed 
on  the  haze  over  the  mountains  which  the 
worshippers  of  the  sun  called  "  The  Cradle 
of  Day."  On  his  left,  a  hundred  feet  be 
low,  the  waters  of  the  moat  were  rippling, 
bedecked  with  all  their  ancient  diamonds 
in  honour  of  the  occasion. 

Prince  Akechi  rose:  with  him  also,  at 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  249 

his  right,,  the  Princess  of  Yechigo  and 
her  daughter. 

"Master  builder!  The  gods  are  con 
tent  and  are  pleased!  Heaven  has  sent  to 
its  unworthy  servant  this  wonderful  gift 
through  your  hands!  " 

Prince  Akechi  tore  off  the  bandage. 

"Behold^  master,  how  straight  it  is! 
How  erect  in  its  proud  dignity/' 

At  the  same  time: 

"August  father!  "  cried  a  child's  voice. 

"  My  lord  !  Oh,  prince  !  "  a  woman's 
voice. 

And  two  pairs  of  delicate  arms  were 
stretched  toward  the  man  in  rags. 

"  Behold  also,  master/'  said  Prince 
Akechi,  with  a  sweeping  gesture  toward 
the  princess  and  her  daughter,  "  Your  su 
preme  reward! " 

But  these  the  architect  did  not  seem  to 
hear.  His  eyes  shot  at  the  castle.  In  a 
fixed,  awful  stare  they  remained  nailed  to 
his  dream  made  stone. 

Fearing  very  much  that,  after  all,  the 
builder  might  discover  the  inclination  of 
the  castle,  and  in  the  feverish  haste  of  one 


250  1RQKA: 

swept  into  the  rapids  leading  to  a  cataract, 
Prince  Akechi  almost  shouted  in  the  ears 
of  the  beggar-architect: 

"  Prince  of  Yechigo,  behold  your  august 
consort  and  daughter! " 

The  architect  seemed  to  have  turned 
deaf  all  of  a  sudden,  and  his  gaze  strained 
under  the  full  knot  of  frowns.  When 
Prince  Akechi,  irritated  almost  beyond 
endurance,  tried  perforce  to  turn  the  archi 
tect's  attention  upon  his  wife  and  daugh 
ter,  the  man  in  rags  made  a  gesture 
of  annoyance,  full  of  meaning,  though 
very  absent  minded,  which  was  majestic 
indeed. 

Blood  streamed  into  the  architect's  eyes; 
madness  also. 

"  And  so "  he  hissed  between  his 

teeth. 

"  Oh,  august  father!  Father!  "  a  child's 
voice. 

The  architect  took  out  a  chisel  from  a 
fold  of  his  rag  kimono.  Silence  did  not 
dare  to  breathe.  He  took  the  chisel  be 
tween  his  teeth. 

"  And  so "  he  almost  sighed  this 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  251 

time — his  voice  breaking  against  the 
chisel  between  his  teeth. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  woman's  scream. 
The  sound  of  a  falling  body  followed  it. 

A  hundred  feet  below,  where  the  sacred 
lotus  bloomed  on  the  nirvanic  waves  of 
the  moat,,  one  saw  a  white  fountain  rise 
all  of  a  sudden — a  few  seconds.  And 
thence  came  up  also  the  sound  of  a  plunge. 

And  there  is  a  white  catfish  in  the  moat 
of  Kameyama  Castle  with  a  chisel  in  its 
mouth — so  my  grandfather  told  me. 


A  Geisha 


A  Geisha 

A  Japanese  Love  Story 

You  could  almost  see  the  sun  of  the 
south  in  the  warmth  of  her  olive  skin;  in 
her  dark  eyes,  the  phosphorescent  glow  of 
her  native  seas,  and  her  lips  told  you 
where  the  pomegranate  grew.  She  was 
from  the  coast  of  Kyushyu. 

It  was  a  good,  quiet  place,  her  native 
town.  But  the  horses  on  the  hillsides  were 
hungry;  so  also  her  imagination.  She 
read  newspapers.  They  told  her  the  story 
of  Miss  A.  and  Miss  Z.;  how  they  made 
their  name,  filled  their  boudoirs  with  the 
sighs  of  men,  their  adorations,  their  smiles. 
Why,  then,  should  not  she  as  well?  Her 
imagination  was  southern,  and  she  had  the 
self-confidence  that  was  of  the  north.  And 


256  IROKA: 

many  a  time  had  she  asked  of  her  mirror 
if  she  were  really  as  beautiful  as  "  that "  ? 

Tokio  is  full  of  such  girls.  Men  sneer 
at  them,  and  good  women  sigh  as  they 
watch  the  almost  invariable  road  they 
march  through  the  wickedness  of  the  capi 
tal  city.  But  0  Chika's  was  the  partial 
ity  of  tutelary  gods.  She  came  to  the  city 
to  work  her  way;  and  she  did  work.  But 
she  was  ambitious. 

There  is  just  one  way  open  for  a  girl  of 
beauty  and  ambition  and  yet  of  no  name, 
no  education,  to  enter  the  society  of  men 
of  wit,  rank,  and  wealth.  And  that  way 
leads  through  banquet  halls.  The  Geisha 
is  a  professional  entertainer,  a  companion 
of  wines  and  songs,  and  she  is  found  in 
a  palace,  and  if  her  position  is  not  as 
philosophical  as  that  of  the  spider,  it  is 
more  sociable.  0  Chika  saw  this  road. 

At  one  of  the  dinners  given  in  honour 
of  a  man  who  had  written  a  book  on  the 
other  side  of  the  world  and  made  entire 
Japan  fall  in  love  with  him,  0  Chika  met 
a  young  man  on  the  veranda  commanding 
the  picture-like  garden  of  the  Tokio  Club. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  257 

"  Mademoiselle,  I  have  something  to  tell 
you  which  I  am  sure  you  will  not  believe." 

"  Why.,  sir,  if  I  may  be  pardoned  for  my 
curiosity?  " 

"  Because  it  is  too  good,  too  pleasant." 

"  Sir,  the  world  is  too  sad  to  deny  a 
pleasure  to  a  girl  like  me,"  she  said  to  him. 

"  Well,  then,,  mademoiselle,  for  some 
time  I  wanted  to  cage  a  fairy  in  order  to 
paint  her.  I  am  an  idolater,  and  my  deity 
is  the  Beautiful.  As  you  may  know,  I  am 
an  artist.  I  went  into  the  land  of  dreams 
to  hunt  for  her.  When  I  met  you  I  saw 
my  mistake.  The  other  day  I  refused  to 
paint  Countess  M.,  for  I  worship  and  serve 
none  but  Beauty.  Would  you  condescend 
to  count  this  as  one  of  many  trophies, 
and  .  .  .  ?" 

A  week  or  so  later  she  was  in  his  studio. 

At  work  there,  with  perhaps  one  of  the 
most  perfect  models  who  has  ever  posed 
before  an  artist,  Kagawa  Yuko  completely 
forgot  the  world;  but  evening  parties,  the 
leisure  hours  of  great  ladies,  the  chats  of 
clubs  and  newspapers  persisted  in  remem 
bering  him. 
17 


258  IROKA: 

Gossip  is  a  narrow-minded  imp,  and 
when  it  saw  0  Chika,  a  mere  mortal,  out 
weighing  the  whole  globe  on  Kagawa's 
scale,  it  did  not  like  it — and  said  so  in  its 
low,  far-reaching  whispers.  The  artist's 
sudden  disappearance  from  tea  and  cake 
played  on  all  the  different  chords  of  the 
metropolitan  humours — some  laughed, 
some  sighed,  some  sneered,  some  frowned, 
and  some  were  thoughtful  enough  to  write 
to  him  (on  dainty,  perfumed,  crested  note- 
papers)  that  they  could  not  believe  their 
own  eyes  and  ears — which  certainly  was 
a  very  bad  state  of  things. 

Kagawa  received  a  letter  one  day  which 
he  read,  because  it  had  the  postmark  of 
his  native  town  upon  it.  It  informed  him 
that  he  was  to  have  the  pleasure  of  enter 
taining  a  party  of  which  his  sister  was  a 
member,  and  that  he  was  further  to  be 
honoured  to  act  as  its  guide  in  Tokio.  As 
the  token  of  his  appreciation  of  the  pleas 
ure  and  honour,  he  said  to  0  Chika: 

"  This  life  is  full  of  trials — give  me 
a  bit  of  philosophy  to  bear  them  grace 
fully!  » 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  259 

0  Chika  gave  him  a  smile,  which  served 
him  better  than  a  Confucian  maxim. 

The  party  did  not  stay  longer  than  a 
month,  but  when  it  left  Tokio  one  of  the 
young  ladies  carried  away  more  blushes, 
and  dreams,  and  smiles  than  her  baggage 
brought  into  the  capital.  Kagawa  was 
engaged  to  Takamatsu  Teruko. 

It  was  a  case  of  love  at  first  sight.  Miss 
Takamatsu  was  from  one  of  the  very  best 
families;  she  had  money,  for  which  Ka 
gawa  did  not  care;  but  at  the  same  time 
she  had  grace  and  naivete,  which  were 
very  rare  in  the  city,  and  for  which  the 
artist  did  care  much. 

0  Chika  .  .  .  Oh,  of  course, 
but  .  .  w 

0  Chika,  who  came  to  him  just  as  soon 
as  the  party  had  gone  away,  did  not  know 
of  this.  It  was  a  very  simple  news  to  com 
municate,  but  when  she  entered  into  the 
studio  with  a  smile,  Kagawa  had  to  turn 
his  head  away.  He  had  promised  himself 
to  tell  her  everything,  the  very  first  time 
he  would  see  her.  He  broke  his  word;  but 
it  was  to  himself  that  he  proved  false,  so 


260  IROKA: 

he  did  not  deem  himself  unworthy  the 
name  of  gentleman. 

He  told  her  that  he  was  going  to  finish 
the  picture  in  a  few  days  now.  And  she, 
looking  at  the  canvas,  said  to  him: 

"  That  branch  of  the  blooming  cherry 
must  be  very  hard  to  break,  for  I  have 
been  trying  for  three  months  now! " 

When  she  was  gone  he  said  to  himself, 
by  way  of  consolation,  "  This  must  happen 
some  time  or  other.  I  haven't  known  her 
much  more  than  a  year.  But  heavens! 
How  hard  it  is.  I  have  not  wronged  her, 
of  course — that  is  ...  but  .  .  ." 

"She  is  the  most  beautiful  woman  I  ever 
saw,"  he  added,  as  if  there  were  any  con 
nection  between  these  statements. 

"  Well,  what  she  wants  is  a  name — fame, 
fortune,  perhaps.  Very  well,  I  will  give 
them  to  her.  If  this  picture  will  not 
bring  them  to  her,  it  is  none  of  my  faults." 

That  was  the  last  thing  he  said  that 
day.  He  put  out  the  light  and  tumbled 
into  his  couch,  but  he  could  not  find  Sleep 
hiding  in  any  of  its  corners  or  folds. 

She  was  all  smiles  now,  and  very  much 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  261 

happier  than  others,  because  she  had  had 
clouds,  dense  clouds,  too,  in  the  earlier 
days  of  her  struggle.  The  pathos  of  this 
beautiful  girl  thanking  Future  in  advance 
with  smiles  that  were  the  joys  of  gods, 
went  straight  to  Kagawa's  heart — it  would 
have  touched  the  heart  of  a  stone  Buddha 
on  a  country  road  as  well.  There  is  a 
pleasure  that  passes  the  understandings 
of  the  world- wise  which  comes  to  a  woman, 
I  am  told,  when  her  confidence  in  man 
builds  a  pedestal  for  him  and  her  devotion 
translates  him,  a  weak  mortal,  into  a  god, 
so  that  he  could  more  becomingly  sit  upon 
it.  That  pleasure  was  beaming  out  from 
every  pore  of  0  Chika.  By  that  time  she 
came  to  know  much  of  the  world,  some 
thing  of  human  nature,  too — only  thor 
oughly  to  despise  it — but  then  her  Ka- 
gawa,  who,  indeed,  was  in  the  world,  was 
not  of  it. 

Here,  then,  was  a  beautiful  woman  who 
was  thoroughly  happy.  You  cannot  blame 
the  gods  for  getting  jealous  of  her,  a  trifle. 

But  then  men  are  so  queer — and  Ka- 
gawa  was,  after  all,  a  man — when  such  a 


262  1ROKA: 

picture  of  joy  and  comeliness  as  0  Chika 
sits  beside  him  he  must  go  hunting  for 
something  that  will  make  him  thor 
oughly  wretched.  And,  with  smiling  0 
Chika  by  his  side  on  the  divan  of  the 
studio,  on  that  early  summer  day,  it  would 
have  been  rather  hard  for  you  to  find  a 
more  miserable  man  in  the  city  of  Tokio. 

His  voice  was  tremulous. 

"  0  Chika,  I  am  afraid  that  you  will  hate 
me  before  you  leave  me  to-day,"  he  began. 
The  tone  of  voice  rather  than  the  words 
frightened  her. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter,  Kagawa- 
san?" 

She  turned  sharply  round  and  looked 
at  him.  The  eyes  of  the  artist,  of  this 
idolater  of  the  Beautiful,  which  used  to 
hang  on  her  every  look  and  expression, 
now  seemed  to  prefer  the  monotonous, 
blank  mat  to  the  most  beautiful  of  speak 
ing  features. 

"  The  will  of  one's  parents  must  be 
obeyed,  you  know,"  was  the  solemn  open 
ing  sentence  of  the  criminal.  It  was  a 
great  sacrifice  for  him — so  he  said.  Oh, 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  263 

what  a  loathsome  fondness  for  virtues  a 
sinner  has! 

"  One  must  settle  down  sometimes,  you 
know.  One  cannot  continue  this  sort  of 
life  all  the  time,  and " 

She  was  staring  at  him  so  intensely  that 
his  face  seemed  to  her  like  a  blur.  She 
remained  silent. 

"  I  want  you  to  he  reasonable,  0  Chika 
— I  know  you  will.  You  know  how  much 
I  love  you — one  can't  help  but  to  love  you. 
Oh,  I  am  wretched!  It's  all  right  if  one 
could  do  just  what  he  likes  in  this  world — 
but " 

You  might  talk  as  much  as  you  like  and 
you  could  never  convince  0  Chika  that  it 
was  possible  for  Kagawa  to  lie.  It  took 
more  time,  however,  for  the  meaning  of 
his  words  to  become  clear  to  her  thL'i  a 
heavy  fog  to  turn  purple  and  transparent 
on  a  Japanese  hillside  under  the  bright 
sun.  When  she  did  understand  the  im 
port  of  his  words  it  struck  her  like  a  kick 
from  a  muddy  boot  on  her  naked  heart. 
She  could  not  speak;  her  silence  awed  him 
and  for  the  first  time  he  stole  a  glance 


264  1ROKA: 

at  her.  Then  he  saw  one  of  those  sights 
which  one  carries,  without  any  effort  of 
the  memory,  to  the  grave. 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  don't  take  it  so 
seriously — so  painfully!  " 

She  was  not  crying;  she  had  not  recov 
ered  from  the  blow  which  stunned  her. 
He  took  her  hand:  met  that  strange,  stony 
look  wherein  the  gods  write  the  sentence 
of  death  for  a  certain  set  of  criminals. 

"  0,  I  know  I  promised  to  marry  you, 

but  you  see "  He  paused.  He  seemed 

to  have  been  deserted  by  his  ever-ready 
lies.  Heaven  is  just.  "When  he  said  that 
he  was  miserable  he  told  the  truth. 

"  But  you  see  " — pointing  to  the  canvas". 

That  was  a  magnificent  piece  of  work — 
a  veritable  masterpiece.  "  You  see  fame, 
wealth,  adoration  of  men  will  be  all 
yours!" 

Yes,  he  did  dare  say  that.  It  was  in 
deed  natural  that  he  was  awed  by  his  own 
audacity. 

0  Chika's  face  looked,  for  a  second,  like 
a  shoji  screening  a  burning  room.  She 
rose  and  walked  to  the  canvas. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  265 

"  This — do  you  mean  this?  "  she  asked 
him  with  a  strange  voice.  The  painter 
could  not  even  nod.  With  her  teeth  set, 
her  beautiful  face  hardening,  pale,  all  in  a 
tremour,  she  dug  her  fingers  into  the  can 
vas.  The  easel  fell.  She  leaped  upon  the 
humiliated  canvas;  stamped  it  to  tatters. 
Then,  weeping,  her  hair  in  disorder,  she 
sunk  amid  the  ruins  of  her  beautiful  por 
trait.  The  scene  went  into  the  heart  of 
the  artist. 

He  took  her  in  his  arms  and  lifted  her: 
"  0  Chika,  0  Chika!  "  Tears  were  in  his 
eyes.  His  voice  worked  upon  her  like  a 
magic.  She  pulled  him  to  the  divan. 

"  Oh,  forgive  me — forgive  me!  I  was 
mad.  0,  what  have  I  done! " 

She  wept,  wept,  wept. 

"  Oh,  I  was  all  wrong.  I  should  not  have 
hoped  for  such  a  great  thing.  The  gods 
must  be  angry  with  me  for  aspiring  to 
marry  you,  to  make  you  mine.  No,  no! 
It  is  not  your  fault,  dear  beloved.  I  was 
to  blame.  And  the  beautiful  picture!  Oh, 
pardon  me — but  how  can  you  forgive 
me?" 


266  IRQKA: 

When,  touched  through  and  through, 
the  painter  succeeded  in  soothing  her,  she 
said: 

"  Oh,  I  want  you  to  be  happy.  Yes,  you 
must  marry  a  good,  noble  lady  of  your 
honourable  rank.  I  was  all  wrong;  for 
give  me! " 

Seeing  that  he  was  very  unhappy,  she 
tried  all  she  could  to  console  him.  She 
even  smiled. 

"  See,  I  am  all  right  now.  I  was  so 
silly,  wasn't  I?" 

Yes,  she  joked.  And  when  it  sounded 
like  a  mockery  heaped  on  her  broken, 
crushed  heart,  she  suppressed  a  sob. 

"  Oh,  I  shall  love  you  always — will  you 
not  let  me  do  that — you  will,  won't  you? 
You  have  been  so  good  to  me,  honourable 
beloved/' 

Meanwhile  the  artist,  as  he  but  too 
richly  deserved,  suffered  the  torment  of 
the  damned. 

When  he  closed  his  studio  in  the  capital 
to  return  to  his  native  town — his  bride  was 
waiting  for  him  there — he  said  he  would 
never  return  to  the  city. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  267 

Sendai,  the  birthplace  of  the  artist,  saw 
a  very  pale  bridegroom.  He  did  not  paint 
anything  after  his  return  home.  He  was 
too  busy  attending  other  matters,  namely, 
to  deceive  his  bride  (for  he  wanted  her  to 
see  how  happy  he  was)  and  to  run  away 
from  his  memory — to  give  the  lie  to  facts, 
or  at  least  to  turn  them  into  a  dim  dream. 

In  spite  of  his  solemn,  emphatic 
"  never "  he  was  seen  on  the  streets  of 
Tokio,  or  rather  in  the  gay  maelstrom  of 
Tokio's  society,  in  a  marvellously  short 
time.  All  his  friends  came  to  congratu 
late  him  with  sentences  that  sounded  as  if 
they  had  been  on  paper  four,  five,  times. 
And,  paying  their  compliments  on  the 
beauty  of  his  bride,  some  of  the  more  fa 
miliar,  some  of  the  more  careless,  of  his 
comrades,  often  happened  to  ask  him: 

"And  how  is  your  picture?  How  is 
your  beautiful  model  ?  " 

For  his  friends  did  not  know  that  Ka- 
gawa  was  there  in  the  capital  to  find  out 
where,  how,  through  what  vale  of  shadows 
0  Chika  was  passing — and  for  nothing 
else. 


268  IROKA: 

When  his  bride  was  safely  out  of  the 
reach  of  his  voice  he  repeated  to  himself, 
"How  was  it  I  thought  that  woman  charm 
ing — that  is  a  miracle! "  In  those  mo 
ments  he  was  haunted  by  the  lines  and 
curves  and  the  dream-winged  expressions 
of  0  Chika,  which  he  had  tried  and  suc 
ceeded  once  to  catch  in  colours  on  his 
canvas. 

Impatience  gave  him  a  rack,  and  he 
came  to  find  out  the  limit  of  human  en 
durance.  He  must  see! 

For  three  days — so  his  wife  understood 
him  to  say — he  was  obliged  to  go  and  see 
one  of  his  artist  friends  somewhere  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  Aoyama. 

All  that  time  he  had  been  hunting  up 
the  friends  of  0  Chika;  they  told  him  what 
they  knew  of  her — that  she  had  disap 
peared  all  of  a  sudden  from  the  "  Gold- 
Cloud-Hall/'  where  she  had  shone  as  the 
star  about  four  months  ago.  That  was 
just  about  the  time  when  Kagawa  had  left 
Tokio  for  his  home. 

He  gave  up  the  search — it  was  no  use. 
Just  to  keep  himself  out  of  the  lunatic 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  269 

asylum  he  took  to  his  brush.  He  had  care 
fully  collected  a  few  hundred  sketches  he 
had  made  of  0  Chika,  and  tried  to  conjure 
up  upon  a  canvas  once  more  the  girl  trying 
to  break  off  a  branch  from  the  spring-smil 
ing  cherry.  One  day  he  worked  far  be 
yond  the  midnight,,  and  the  nirvanic  moon 
hanging  on  a  bough  of  a  pine  tree  in  his 
yard  tempted  him  out  of  the  studio.  As 
he  turned  a  corner  of  a  hedge  he  surprised 
a  woman  crouching  in  the  shade  of  it. 

"  Who's  there?" 

The  woman  tried  to  run  away,  and  in  so 
doing  she  exposed  her  face  to  the  moon. 
It  was  just  a  glimpse  that  Kagawa  saw,  but 
that  was  enough.  He  caught  her  by  her 
sleeve. 

0  Chika  promised  him  that  she  would 
see  him  to-morrow;  gave  him  her  address. 
He  had  to  believe  her;  he  had  no  choice — 
he  could  not  keep  her  standing  there  all 
night. 

"  Good-bye! "  he  said,  still  holding  her 
hand. 

She  raised  her  face.  The  moon  kissed 
the  tears  in  her  eyes,  her  quivering  lips 


270      IROKA:  TALES    OF   JAPAN 

also,  and  gave  romance  to  the  pallor  of 
her  cheeks.  An  artist  who  would  paint 
the  Japanese  Madonna  ought  to  have  seen 
her  then.  Just  as  soon  as  she  could  con 
trol  her  mutinous  lips,  she  said: 

"  Sayonara,  Sayonara,  Kagawa-san!  " 
She  withdrew  her  hand  from  his  grasp, 
walked  hurriedly,  and,  turning  the  corner 
of  the  hedge,  disappeared.  Where  she  had 
stood  the  silver  frost  of  moonlight  alone 
remained.  The  echo  of  her  "  Sayonara  " 
played  on  all  the  heart  strings  of  Kagawa; 
it  intoxicated  him,  made  him  dizzy — it 
made  him  dream.  He  felt  as  if  he  were 
hearing  the  echo-strains  from  the  Land 
of  the  Lotus. 

The  morning  papers  of  the  next  day  had 
the  following  in  bold,  dark  print: 

THE  TRAGEDY  OF  YOTSUYA- 

MOAT. 

The  Charming  0  Chika,  of  Gold-Cloud- 
Hall,  is  now  a  Memory! 


Sakuma  Sukenari 


Sakuma  Sukenari 

The  Story  of  a  Japanese  Outlaw 


The  godown  No.  4,  in  the  palace  com 
pound  of  Yamaguchi,  was  filled  with  per 
haps  the  oldest  and  the  choicest  treasures 
of  the  princely  house  of  Matsudaira. 
Three  officers  of  the  palace  were  present  at 
the  opening  of  it,  and  when  they  found  it 
as  empty  as  a  cicada's  shell,  the  colour  of 
their  faces  changed.  They  rushed  into  it 
— and  filled  the  empty  godown  with  their 
bewilderment.  There  was  no  sign  of  a 
thief  here,  no  hint  of  an  ingress  or  egress 
that  had  evidently  been  made.  All  the 
treasures  were  gone;  how?  They  did  not 
know.  Through  what  hole?  That,  they 
could  not  find.  By  whom?  Heaven  only 
knew. 

18 


274  IROKA: 

"  Gompachi — Shiro — is  that  you?  " 

"What's  that?"  whispered  the  officers 
among  themselves. 

"  Say,  who  is  there  above;  is  that  you, 
Shiro  ?  "  the  voice  repeated.  Evidently  it 
came  from  under  the  stone  floor  of  the  go- 
down.  The  officers  did  not  answer.  By- 
and-bye,  one  of  the  flags  which  paved  the 
floor  lifted  up  gently;  a  man's  head 
emerged. 

"  Sakuma  Sukenari! " 

A  palace  officer  recognised  the  grey- 
haired  man.  Then,  all  of  a  sudden  he  dis 
appeared  like  the  twinkle  of  a  spark.  All 
rushed  to  the  stone  and  tried  to  raise  it; 
it  did  not  yield.  A  moment  more,  and 
that  portion  of  the  floor  gave  in.  There 
was  a  fearful  sound  of  falling  bodies,  and 
the  still  more  fearful  screams  and  groans 
of  the  doomed  men.  The  floor  closed  up 
again  over  the  wall.  Then  a  sound  as  of 
the  rushing  of  a  mighty  stream  drowned 
the  complaints  of  the  lost. 

The  whole  clan  was  aroused  at  the  news. 
They  dug  open  the  entire  space  where 
upon  the  godown  had  stood.  They  found 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  275 

an  immense  deep  well,  and  it  was  full  of 
water.  However,  after  a  painstaking 
search  of  many  days,  they  could  not  re 
cover  the  remains  of  the  palace  officers 
and  men. 

All  this  happened  in  the  early  autumn, 
and,  as  I  have  said,  in  Yamaguchi  of 
Choshyu  Clan.  And  Choshyu  is  one  of 
the  southern  provinces  of  Nihon. 


II 


Sakuma  Sukenari  looked  out  from  a 
cave  not  far  from  the  foot  of  the  moun 
tain,  and  greeted  the  death  of  the  day. 
He  was  there  because  he  knew  that  many 
hundred  armed  men  were  out  hunting  him 
on  the  coast  of  Choshyu,  where  the  south 
ern  waves  rippled. 

All  admired  him,  and  most  of  them 
loved  him.  Every  one  knew  that  he  was 
a  robber;  and  every  one  knew  that  robbery 
was  dishonourable — wrong. 

"  Well,  I  will  tell  them  where  I  am,  the 
imbeciles! " 


276  IROKA: 

Then  shading  his  eyes,  he  looked  afar. 
The  evening  rays  were  going  away  from 
the  hillside,  and  the  dust,  like  soft  black 
rain,  was  falling  upon  the  Kameyama 
Castle  Town. 

"  Yes,  by  to-morrow  morning  they 
will  find  out  my  whereabouts." 

The  lonely  man  smiled  again  and  ca 
ressed  his  sword — this  was  the  one  friend 
that  never  disappointed  him. 


Ill 


A  little  past  midnight. 

A  touch  or  two  on  the  stone  wall,  and  he 
was  within  the  enclosure  of  perhaps  the 
wealthiest  house  of  the  town.  There  was 
a  fortune  in  that  feat,  and  a  cat  might  with 
profit  have  learned  something  from  his 
agility.  At  last  he  reached  the  principal 
bedchamber.  He  ungrooved  a  shoji,  and 
under  his  magic  touch  it  would  not  utter 
a  single  squeak  of  protest.  He  was  within 
the  room  as  gracefully  as  a  sportive  fairy. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  277 

At  the  head  of  the  bed,  a  seed-oil,  pith- 
wick  lamp  was  almost  falling  asleep  over 
the  dreams  of  things  and  men. 

Suddenly  he  stopped,  and  a  smile,  such 
as  you  see  on  a  flower-enamelled  field  of 
May,  came  and  untied  the  last  knot  of  care 
and  made  an  amusing  fun — a  rather  sad 
sort  of  fun  it  was,  too — of  that  stoic  indif 
ference  of  his  face. 

A  sight — so  unexpected,  so  bright,  so 
unearthly,  so  innocent,  so  godlike — met 
his  scrutinising  eyes,  and  the  tender  hu 
mour  of  the  situation  quite  overwhelmed 
him. 

A  baby  smiled  at  him.  It  held  out  its 
bud-like  fist,  which  by-and-bye  opened 
into  a  flower  full  of  dimples.  Sakuma 
stuck  his  naked  sword  into  the  mat. 
Stooping  down  with  that  gracious  pose 
which  was  natural  to  him,  and  with  the 
sweetest  smiles,  he  acknowledged  his  de 
feat  on  his  knees.  He  was  completely, 
absolutely  vanquished. 

At  that  time,  when  he  was  putting  those 
ruby  petals  of  the  baby  hand  between  his 
lips,  it  never  occurred  to  him  that,  not 


278  IROKA: 

quite  a  year  before  this,  in  the  town  of 
Wakamatsu,  he  had  treated  some  thirty 
armed  men,  single-handed,  to  handsome, 
and,  according  to  those  men  who  had  been 
entertained,  miraculous  sword-feats.  But 
it  was  a  fact.  A  hundred  men  might  have 
attacked  him  just  as  well,  for  it  made  no 
difference  to  Sakuma.  And  this  man,  who 
could  fairly  dance  on  the  sword-blades  of 
his  enemies — and  what  is  more,  enjoy  the 
dance — he  who  had  convinced  the  select 
men  of  ten  clans  by  turns  that  he  was  a 
cloud,  an  apparition,  a  visitation  of  an  oni, 
a  ghost,  a  ma;  he  whom  no  iron  cables,  no 
prison  bars  could  hold,  this  genius  of  a 
robber  was  caught.  The  baby  was  hold 
ing  him  with  its  dimpled  finger. 

Forgetting  all — forgetting  for  what  he 
had  broken  into  the  house;  forgetting  that 
his  visit  was  rather  unexpected  on  the  part 
of  those  two  people,  the  master  and  the 
mistress  of  the  house  who  were  sleeping 
there  before  his  eyes;  forgetting  that  he 
came  without  any  invitation;  that  the 
human  eyes  were  not  made  to  sleep  on 
forever;  that  the  night  was  not  going  to 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  279 

last  as  long  as  a  year — he  gathered  up  the 
child  (and  a  mother  would  have  loved  him 
just  for  the  manner  wherewith  he  had 
caught  up  that  baby  in  his  arms),  and  sit 
ting  cross-legged,  he  began  to  play  with 
the  baby.  He  made  faces  at  it;  for  it  he 
twisted  his  fingers  into  the  shapes  of  a 
hundred  different  animals  and  flowers  and 
men.  Then  the  baby,  raising  its  fat  arms, 
beat  the  air  as  if  it  wanted  to  tell  him  what 
it  had  been  before  it  came  into  this  world, 
and  whence  it  came,  and  that  it  had  not 
been  away  from  its  former  home  so  long 
that  it  had  forgot  all  about  the  mode  of  its 
pre-existence — which,  in  truth,  seemed  to 
be  a  happier  one  than  that  of  the  present. 
After  winnowing  the  air  vigorously,  and 
seeing  itself  still  in  the  lap  of  Sakuma,  it 
opened  its  large,  wonder-pregnant  eyes. 
"  Why,  in  the  name  of  sanity,  don't  I  rise 
into  the  air?  "  they  seemed  to  query,  those 
eyes.  Just  then  it  was  evident  that  the 
humour  of  the  situation  struck  its  merry 
understanding. 

"  Aaaa — aaaa — aaaa — boo — oo — ah — • 
brrrrrrrrr! "  it  shouted  at  the  top  note  of 


280  1ROKA: 

its  baby  pipe.  That  jolly  note  from  the 
baby  throat,  however,  seemed  to  have 
aroused  a  fiend  in  the  sharp  eyes  of  Saku 
ma.  They  had  been  so  childlike  but  a 
second  ago!  Now  they  were  as  forbidding 
as  winter.  He  put  his  finger  on  the  lips 
of  the  baby;  shot  his  eyes  at  the  sleepers. 
They  were  sound  asleep  yet.  No  danger 
— and  his  face  melted  again  into  an  amia 
ble  sweetness. 

But  in  a  short  while,  it  seemed  that  the 
baby  was  much  pleased  at  the  mouse  which 
Sakuma  formed  out  of  his  fingers  and 
which  he  made  crawl  under  the  arms  of 
the  child.  The  baby  appreciated  the  treat 
ment  noisily,  and  with  a  vehement  enthu 
siasm.  This  time  the  shrill  scream  was  so 
loud  that  Sakuma  bit  his  lips,  rose  with  a 
start,  made  a  rush  toward  the  sword  he  had 
stuck  in  the  mat.  Even  that,  however, 
did  not  disturb  the  wonderfully  sinless 
sleepers.  And  when  he  saw  himself  safe 
again,  the  ridiculousness  of  his  situation 
came  upon  him  and  shook  every  bone  in 
him  in  a  silent  convulsion  of  laughter. 

All  of  a  sudden  he  stopped  laughing. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  281 

Sharply  he  turned  his  eyes  on  the  sleeping 
woman.  The  mother  was  singing  a  lul 
laby — sweet,  plaintive,  dreamy.  She  was 
still  sleeping;  but  somehow  the  cry  of  the 
child  was  heard  by  her,  and  she  was  sing 
ing,  trying  to  soothe  it  to  sleep  with  the 
melody. 

Sakuma  looked  at  the  woman  till  he 
could  see  no  more  because  of  the  blinding 
tears.  He  still  held  the  baby  in  his  arms. 
Many  things  came  into  his  head.  He,  too, 
had  a  home  once.  Yes,  his  wife  was  with 
him,  then.  He  also  had  a  girl  baby — 
twenty- two  years  ago!  His  wife  went 
ahead  of  him  to  meet  her  Buddha,  for  as 
young  as  she  was,  her  heart  was  pure 
enough  to  see  the  holy  lord.  He  lost  his 
baby  daughter  in  a  festival  crowd.  And 
now  his  hair  had  turned  grey,  and  after 
taxing  to  the  utmost  the  sagacity  of  his 
brain — which  the  people  declared  to  be 
either  that  of  a  demon  or  simply  a  miracle 
— in  search  of  the  lost  child,  and  after 
twenty-two  years,  he  could  not  find  as 
much  as  a  suspicion  of  a  trace  of  her. 

"  Time  was  when  I  was  the  model  of  de- 


282  IRQKA: 

voted  husbands,  when  I  was  loved  by  a 
woman  lily-pure  and  lovely  as  a  smile, 
when  I  was  perfectly  happy!  " — so  he  told 
the  baby  in  a  whisper.  He  confided  many 
more  secrets  to  it.  And  the  little  confes 
sor  took  in,  without  the  least  alarm,  all  the 
astounding  revelations  of  the  greatest 
robber  of  the  age. 

Providence  willed  that  this  touching 
scene  should  not  go  on  forever,  and  on  the 
ice-edged  air  was  heard  the  first  matin  of 
a  cock. 

They  were  very  quick,  his  movements 
— a  little  more  adroit  than  the  nervousness 
of  electric  flashes.  But  the  baby  could  not 
understand  why  Sakuma  should  leave  it  on 
the  mat,  since  it  had  such  a  jolly  time  on 
his  lap. 

"  A — aaa — ahiiiiiii!  "  it  cried  to  him. 

"  Sayonara !  "  he  said,  politely,  to  the 
baby.  "  Good-night,  Innocence!  " 

He  waved  his  hand  at  it.  But  at  the 
parting  he  weakened.  Well,  he  wanted  a 
little  souvenir  which  would  recall  to  him 
— in  after-days  of  worry  and  torment — 
this  night  which  came  to  him  as  unex- 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  283 

pectedly  as  a  patch  of  sunny  sky  in  the 
dead  of  night. 

Oh,  how  he  would  have  loved  to  carry 
that  baby  away  with  him!  He  faltered. 
He  knew  that  dawn  would  whiten  on  him 
very  soon,  and  yet  if  he  were  to  hesitate 
a  few  moments  more  he  would  be  forced  to 
spur  his  beloved  steed  to  death  in  order  to 
save  his  life. 

There  stood  a  treasure  chest  on  the  top 
of  the  bureau.  He  slipped  it  under  his 
arm.  Bowing  sweetly  to  the  baby,  as  a 
gentleman  of  court  bidding  a  farewell  to 
his  lady-love,  he  took  a  few  steps  away,  his 
eyes  still  reluctant  upon  the  child. 

The  baby  stretched  forth  its  hands. 

"  Aboo — aboo — oo!  "  it  said,  and  at  once 
falling  on  all  fours  crawled  toward  Saku- 
ma.  It  stopped:  looked  at  him.  Sakuma 
did  not  come  toward  it,  and  then  clouds 
and  storm  fell  upon  the  little  dimpled  face. 

How  could  he  leave  it?  Of  course  he 
went  back  to  it. 

"  Dear  one,"  he  whispered,  "sayonara!" 
He  took  it  up  in  his  arms  once  again.  He 
pressed,  in  a  long  caress,  its  soft  pink 


284  IROKA: 

cheeks  against  his,  weather-beaten  and 
callous.  It  felt  so  tender  to  him. 

Then  the  mother  turned  in  her  sleep 
with  a  faint  groan. 

Like  an  apparition  he  was  gone! 


IV 


There  were  a  few  gold  and  silver  coins 
in  the  treasure  chest.  As  was  his  wont,  he 
would  dole  them  to  the  freezing  and  the 
starving.  The  lonely  life  he  led  gave  him 
the  habit  of  soliloquising: 

"  Poor  wretches — they  must  be  freezing 
to  death,  this  icy  day." 

Then  he  took  out  a  mamoribukuro,  and 
a  mamoribukuro  is  a  small  embroidered 
sack  worn  on  the  girdle  of  a  child,  wherein 
an  o-fuda,  a  sacred  card  of  a  guardian 
deity,  is  kept  along  with  the  address  of  its 
parents. 

Sakuma  threw  it  out  on  the  ground  ab 
sent-mindedly.  And  then  took  it  up  again 
with  a  smile. 

"  The  baby's! "  he  said,  brightening. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  285 

"  I'll  keep  it  as  a  memento!  "  But  when 
his  attention  was  struck  with  its  old,  worn- 
out  condition,  he  looked  at  it  again.  Sud 
denly  he  leaped  up  with  it;  looked  around 
as  a  squirrel  with  a  nut,  and  then  at 
once  opened  the  sack — his  fingers  all  in 
a  tremour,  and  impatience  burning  his 
eyes. 

Yes,  he  was  sure  of  it — the  recognition 
came  like  a  flash — he  had  given  this  to  his 
little  daughter  twenty  years  ago.  Inside 
it  was  the  sacred  card  of  the  guardian  deity 
of  his  native  town — but  of  course  there 
was  no  address.  Might  he  yet  be  mis 
taken?  He  looked  at  it  again.  No,  there 
is  that  family  crest  wrought  with  silk 
within  a  fold  where  none  could  see. 

"What,  what,  what!" 

This  cynic,  this  misanthrope,  this  rider 
of  the  most  perilous  adventures,  he  who 
had  always  been  stone-calm  at  the  very 
fury-vortex  of  events,  this  man  was  in  a 
flutter  of  excitement  like  a  girl  of  fifteen 
at  the  death  of  her  lover! 

And  all  this  for  no  other  reason  than 
that  old  mamorilulcuro.  He  wanted  to 


286  IRQKA: 

thank  heaven — and  tears  were  cascading 
his  cheeks — and  at  the  same  time  he  was, 
in  his  heart,  cursing  the  gods  for  keeping 
his  daughter  away  from  him  so  long. 
"  That  was  she,  then,  that  mother!  " 
He  was  as  happy  as  if  he  had  read  his 
name  on  the  golden  roll  in  the  blessed 
Lotus-Land  of  the  holy  Buddhas.     "  And 
the  baby  my  grandchild! "      It  was  too 
much — it  quite  melted  him. 

So  his  daughter,  lost  on  that  festival  of 
long  ago,  was  stolen  by  some  one.  She 
was  brought  up  by  heaven  alone  knows 
whom,  and  now  she  was  the  wife  of  a 
wealthy  cJwnin! 


At  last!  at  last!  he  had  seen  his  lost 
daughter.  And  as  he  sat  in  a  little,  moun 
tain-deep  deserted  shrine  of  Jido  at  the 
foot  of  Atago  Mountain,  he  recalled  the 
oath  he  had  made  to  the  gods.  It  was  to 
the  effect  that  as  soon  as  he  would  find  his 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  287 

lost  child  safe  and  happy  he  would  offer 
his  life  on  an  altar.  And  now  since  the 
gods  had  led  him — although  it  was  after 
many,  many  weary  years — to  his  life-desire 
and  prayer,  there  seemed  but  one  path  for 
his  feet  to  tread.  Moreover,  he  was  feel 
ing  the  weight  of  snow  that  was  on  his 
head  a  little  too  heavy,  in  spite  of  all  his 
brilliant  wit. 

He  robbed  the  rich  enormously,  and 
giving  everything  to  the  poor,  lived  him 
self  the  severe  and  simple  life  of  an  an 
chorite.  The  law  of  the  land  could  not 
for  a  moment  tolerate  any  such  crime,  and 
so  it  sent  many  an  army  of  men  after  him. 
And,  to  tell  the  truth,  those  men  afforded 
him  many  pleasant  diversions. 

Now  that  his  days  were  numbered,  he 
should  be  seated  peacefully  in  front  of  the 
shrine,  like  a  pious  grandfather  who  had 
spent  all  his  life  in  domestic  beatitude 
about  a  hearth.  Thus  at  the  close  of  his 
ripe  age  he  would  start  out  on  a  pious 
pilgrimage,  that  he  might  die  on  his  way 
to  a  sacred  temple  of  a  holy  Buddha. 
This,  they  say,  is  the  most  blessed  of 


288  IROKA: 

deaths,  seeing  that  such  pilgrims  shall  find 
the  shortest  cut  to  the  Holy  Land  of  the 
Absolute  Bliss.  His  mind  was  made  up. 
He  would  die  in  peace,  and  yet 

Wealthy,  but  she  was  now  the  wife  of 
a  clwnin;  she  had  been  a  daughter  of  a 
samurai.  Ah,  if  he  could  but  see  her  a 
samurai!  This  last  wish  of  his  was  the 
greatest,  and  since  he  knew  that  he  could 
never  see  it  fulfilled  in  his  lifetime,  this 
was  the  most  pathetic  of  his  longings  as 
well — nevertheless,  it  was  not  an  absolute 
despair  with  him. 

In  fact,  he  knew  by  heart  what  the  pla 
cards  were  publishing  abroad  at  almost 
every  entrance  of  every  city,  town,  village, 
or  shrine,  and  at  every  crossing  of  country 
roads. 

His  death — and  perhaps  that  alone — 
would  bring  about  the  sole  and  the  greatest 
longing  of  his  heart.  "What  a  happy  death 
he  was  going  to  die  after  all!  A  smile 
came  and  made  his  face  look  kindly,  as 
the  ripples  make  the  deep,  solemn,  awful 
ocean  playful. 

"  Oh,  daughter! "  he  stretched  out  his 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  289 

arms.  The  passion  of  fatherhood  was 
sweeping  him  off  his  feet. 

Oh,  just  to  clasp  her  once  in  his  arms — 
and  to  tell  her  what  he  was  to  her;  what 
she  was  to  him,  just  once — to  be  recog 
nised  by  her — to  claim  that  baby  with 
whom  he  had  played  the  night  before,  as 
his  own,  as  his  grandchild!  He  would 
have  given  three  kingdoms;  his  life  three 
times  over  for  it.  But,  no!  That  could 

never  be.  And  since  it  could  not  be 

They  say  it  is  harder  to  conquer  one's  self 
than  to  take  a  walled  city.  Indeed,  there 
is  no  comparison  at  all. 

But,  at  any  rate,  he  must  see  her — when 
she  was  awake  and  in  the  full  light  of  day. 
Life  or  death — he  must!  How?  His 
brain,  as  I  have  said,  was  very  fertile. 

With  the  shower  of  the  earliest  rays  the 
next  morning,  there  fell — straight  out  of 
heaven,  to  all  appearance — a  mendicant 
before  the  gate  of  the  wealthy  chonin. 

A  servant  girl  responded  to  him  with  a 
handful  of  rice. 

"As  the  reward  of  many  meritorious 
acts  of  this  household,"  said  the  pious 
19 


290  IROKA: 

voice,  "the  Buddhas  are  pleased  to  give 
the  master  of  the  family  a  token  of  their 
approval.  Tell  him,  at  the  break  of  day 
to-morrow,  to  hasten  to  a  little  shrine  of 
Jido  under  the  pine  tree  at  the  foot  of 
Atago  Mountain,  beyond  the  village  of 
Hozu." 

He  walked  away  a  few  steps,  and  then, 
as  if  he  had  forgot  something,  he  turned 
round  and  came  back  to  the  gate. 

"  Is  there  a  child  in  the  family  that  the 
humble  mendicant  could  bless?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  august  priest." 

The  maid  brought  out  a  baby  in  her 
arms. 

"  The  humble  one  would  rather  bless  it 
in  its  mother's  arms,"  said  the  mendicant. 

After  a  while,  when  a  young  mother 
came  out,  the  deep  shading  Jcasa  (a  mush 
room-shaped  hat)  of  the  priest  tilted  a 
little. 

It  was  a  long,  lingering  blessing,  in  a 
voice  that  trembled  with  emotion.  It  was 
as  reluctant  as  a  lover's  farewell.  It  was 
as  moving  as  the  last  song  of  a  bird  that 
is  dying. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  291 

The  mother,  very  much  touched  and 
pleased  with  it  all,  added  a  few  more  sacks 
of  rice  and  coin  to  the  contribution.  But 
when  the  mendicant  wiped,  very  hastily, 
with  all  the  nervous  awkwardness  of  em 
barrassment,  something  off  his  cheeks,  the 
mother  wondered. 

The  mendicant  again  started  to  depart. 
A  few  steps,  and  once  more  he  was  back 
and  addressed  the  mother: 

"  To-morrow,  early  in  the  morning,  be 
fore  the  sun,  if  your  honourable  husband 
were  to  go  to  a  neglected  little  shrine  of 
Jido  at  the  foot  of  Atago  Mountain,  on  the 
Hozu  road " 

"Yes,  august  priest,  the  humble  one 
knows  the  shrine/7  the  mother  told  him. 

"  There — let  him  go  there,  and  the  Bud- 
dhas  have  prepared  a  reward  of  the  meri 
torious  for  him,  and  his  heart  will  be  made 
glad  of  that  token  of  approval  from  the 
Lord  Buddha." 

The  mother,  hearing  the  solemn  voice  of 
the  holy  man,  wondered  again  at  its 
meaning. 


292  IRQKA: 


VI 


As  the  wealthy  cJionin  turned  into  the 
shrine  of  Jido,  at  the  gate  of  it  he  read 
the  ever-present  placard: 

"Whoever  shall  deliver  into  the  hand 
of  authority,  Sakuma  Sukenari,  an  outlaw, 
alive  or  dead,  renders  a  service  to  State. 
In  recognition  of  the  merits  thereof,  for 
the  maintenance  of  peace  in  the  land,  he 
will  he  raised  to  the  rank  of  samurai  with 
the  annuity  of  3,000  Itoku,  and  will  be 
made  a  retainer  of  the  lord  of  Kameyama 
Clan. 

"  The  prince  will  be  pleased  to  honour 
him  with  the  gift  of  a  sword." 

To  this  was  added  a  minute  description 
of  the  robber,  more  famous  than  princes. 

Under  the  sacred  cedar  tree,  close  to  the 
entrance  of  the  inner  shrine,  there  was  a 
man  bowing  over  his  naked  sword.  The 
chonin  walked  up  to  him;  stopped  short, 
and  examined  him  from  a  distance. 

"  Dead!  "  he  gasped,  and  jumped  away. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  293 

However,  curiosity  compelled  his  second 
glance  over  his  shoulder.  At  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  dead  man  he  saw  a 
treasure  chest. 

"What!" 

Yes,  it  was  his — it  had  been  stolen  the 
night  previous.  How  did  it  happen  that 
it  found  its  way  to  this  out-of- world  shrine 
of  Jido  ?  Naturally  his  spirit  of  investiga 
tion  got  the  upper  hand  of  him.  As  he 
reached  down  to  lift  the  chest  his  eyes  fell 
upon  the  characters  traced  on  the  sands  of 
the  shrine  court  in  front  of  the  dead  man: 

"  I  am  Sakuma  Sukenari,  the  noted  rob 
ber.  Examine  my  face! " 

"  So  it  was  he  who  broke  into  my  house 
last  night! "  he  said,  with  satisfaction. 
Then  he  thought  of  the  great  reward 
offered  by  the  lord  of  the  clan  for  the 
head  of  the  outlaw. 

He  thought:  "  It  was  by  the  punishment 
of  the  Buddhas  that  the  robber  at  last  was 
caught!"  Pious  meditations  filled  his 
heart,  and  tears  his  eyes.  He  seized  the 
head  of  the  dead  by  its  snow  locks  and 
lifted  it  up.  It  was  he.  There  were  those 


294  1ROKA: 

scars,  one  over  the  left  eye  and  the  other 
across  the  left  cheek.  His  massive  chin 
and  his  mouth,  which  was  an  emphatic  line 
of  firmness.,  bulldoggishness,  power — every 
particular  given  in  the  placard  was  there. 
But  as  the  chonin  lifted  up  the  head  of  the 
robher  he  saw  upon  his  lap  a  mamori- 
bukuro,  made  of  brocade,  and  which  was 
very  familiar  to  him.  It  had  belonged  to 
his  wife,  and  she  had  given  it  to  the  baby. 
So  the  outlaw  was  stupid  enough  to  look 
for  the  treasure  in  a  bag  where  the  card 
of  a  guardian  deity  is  kept!  He  laughed 
to  himself  and  speculated  on  the  doltish- 
ness  of  the  world  in  general.  What  a  joke! 
So  they  thought  that  this  wretch  was  the 
sharpest  of  human  wits! 


VII 

At  home,  when  he  told  his  wife  all  the 
circumstances  of  the  discovery,  she  became 
very  tearfully  pious,  and  there  was  much 
praying  in  the  household. 


TALES    OF   JAPAN  295 

The  stray  orphan,  whom  the  wealthy 
merchant  married  for  her  beauty  and  per 
sonal  charms,,  died  a  wife  of  a  samurai; 
but  she  never  found  out  who  her  parents 
were. 


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